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GREAT   BRITAIN  AT  WAR 


BY  JEFFERY  FARNOL 


THE  BROAD  HIGHWAY 

THE  AMATEUR  GENTLEMAN 

THE  HONOURABLE  MR.  TAWNISH 

BELTANE  THE  SMITH 

THE  DEFINITE  OBJECT 


GREAT   BRITAIN 
^       AT   WAR 


BY 


JEFFERY    FARNOL 

V 


non-refeCT 


dQWVAD  •  Q3$ 


BOSTON 
LITTLE,   BROWN,    AND    COMPANY 

1918 


IW 


^ 


Copyright,  igiy, 

By  the  Ridgeway  Co.,  in  the  United  States  and 
Great  Britain. 

Copyright,  zgi7, 
By  the  Outlook  Company. 

Copyright,  igiy. 
The  Tribune  Association. 

Copyright,  igrS, 
By  Little,  Brown,  and  Company. 


All  rights  reserved 
Published,  March,  1918 


KortoooU  ^IrfBB 

Set  up  and  electrotyped  by  J.  S.  Gushing  Co.,  Norwood,  Mass.,  U.S.A. 

Presswork  by  S.  J.  Parkhill  &  Co.,  Boston,  Mass.,  U.S.A. 


So 

ALL    MY 
AMERICAN    FRIENDS 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I  Foreword i 

II  Cartridges 6 

III  Rifles  and  Lewis  Guns     ....  12 

IV  Clydebank 24 

V  Ships  in  Making 33 

VI  The  Battle  Cruisers         ....  40 

VII  A  Hospital 58 

VIII  The  Guns 69 

IX  A  Training  Camp 88 

X  Arras 103 

XI  The  Battlefields 115 

XII  Flying  Men 125 

XIII  Ypres 144 

XIV  What  Britain  Has  Done  .        .        .        .156 


vu 


GREAT    BRITAIN    AT    WAR 


FOREWORD 

In  publishing  these  collected  articles  in 
book  form  (the  result  of  my  visits  to  Flan- 
ders, the  battlefields  of  France  and  divers 
of  the  great  munition  centres),  some  of 
which  have  already  appeared  in  the  press 
both  in  England  and  America,  I  do  so  with 
a  certain  amount  of  diffidence,  because  of 
their  so  many  imperfections  and  of  their 
inadequacy  of  expression.  But  what  man, 
especially  in  these  days,  may  hope  to  treat 
a  theme  so  vast,  a  tragedy  so  awful,  without 
a  sure  knowledge  that  all  he  can  say  must 
fall  so  infinitely  far  below  the  daily  hap- 
penings which  are,  on  the  one  hand,  raising 
Humanity  to  a  godlike  altitude  or  depress- 
ing  it   lower   than   the   brutes.      But,   be- 


2  GREAT  BRITAIN  AT  WAR 

cause  these  articles  are  a  simple  record  of 
what  I  have  seen  and  what  I  have  heard, 
they  may  perhaps  be  of  use  in  bringing  out 
of  the  shadow  —  that  awful  shadow  of 
"usualness"  into  which  they  have  fallen  — 
many  incidents  that  would,  before  the 
war,  have  roused  the  world  to  wonder,  to 
pity  and  to  infinite  awe. 

Since  the  greater  number  of  these  articles 
was  written,  America  has  thrown  her  might 
into  the  scale  against  merciless  Barbarism 
and  Autocracy ;  at  her  entry  into  the  drama 
there  was  joy  in  English  and  French  hearts, 
but,  I  venture  to  think,  a  much  greater 
joy  in  the  hearts  of  all  true  Americans. 
I  happened  to  be  in  Paris  on  the  memorable 
day  America  declared  war,  and  I  shall  never 
forget  the  deep-souled  enthusiasm  of  the 
many  Americans  it  was  my  privilege  to 
know  there.  America,  the  greatest  de- 
mocracy in  the  world,  had  at  last  taken  her 
stand  on  the  side  of  Freedom,  Justice  and 
Humanity. 

As  an  Englishman,  I  love  and  am  proud 
of  my  country,  and,  in  the  years  I  spent  in 


FOREWORD  3 

America,  I  saw  with  pain  and  deep  regret 
the  misunderstanding  that  existed  between 
these  two  great  nations.  In  America  I 
beheld  a  people  young,  ardent,  indomitable, 
full  of  the  unconquerable  spirit  of  Youth, 
and  I  thought  of  that  older  country  across 
the  seas,  so  little  understanding  and  so 
little  understood. 

And  often  I  thought  if  it  were  only  pos- 
sible to  work  a  miracle,  if  it  were  only 
possible  for  the  mists  of  jealousy  and  ill- 
feeling,  or  rivalry  and  misconception  to  be 
swept  away  once  and  for  all  —  if  only 
these  two  great  nations  could  be  bonded 
together  by  a  common  ideal,  heart  to  heart 
and  hand  to  hand,  for  the  good  of  Hu- 
manity, what  earthly  power  should  ever 
be  able  to  withstand  their  united  strength. 
In  my  soul  I  knew  that  the  false  teaching 
of  history  —  that  great  obstacle  to  the 
progress  of  the  world  —  was  one  of  the 
underlying  causes  of  the  misunderstanding, 
but  it  was  an  American  Ambassador  who 
put  this  into  words.  If,  said  he,  America 
did  not  understand  the  aims  and  hopes  of 


4  GREAT  BRITAIN  AT  WAR 

Great  Britain,  it  was  due  to  the  textbooks  of 
history  used  in  American  schools. 

To-day,  America,  through  her  fighting 
youth  and  manhood,  will  see  Englishmen 
as  they  are,  and  not  as  they  have  been  rep- 
resented. Surely  the  time  has  come  when 
we  should  try  and  appreciate  each  other  at 
our  true  worth. 

These  are  tragic  times,  sorrowful  times, 
yet  great  and  noble  times,  for  these  are 
days  of  fiery  ordeal  whereby  mean  and 
petty  things  are  forgotten  and  the  dross 
of  unworthy  things  burned  away.  To- 
day the  two  great  Anglo-Saxon  peoples 
stand  united  in  a  noble  comradeship  for 
the  good  of  the  world  and  for  those  gen- 
erations that  are  yet  to  be,  a  comradeship 
which  I,  for  one,  do  most  sincerely  hope 
and  pray  may  develop  into  a  veritable 
brotherhood.  One  in  blood  are  we,  in 
speech,  and  in  ideals,  and  though  sundered 
by  generations  of  misunderstanding  and 
false  teaching,  to-day  we  stand,  brothers- 
in-arms,  fronting  the  brute  for  the  freedom 
of  Humanity. 


FOREWORD  5 

Americans  will  die  as  Britons  have  died 
for  this  noble  cause;  Americans  will  bleed 
as  Britons  have  bled ;  American  women 
will  mourn  as  British  women  have  mourned 
these  last  terrible  years ;  yet,  in  these 
deaths,  In  this  noble  blood.  In  these  tears 
of  agony  and  bereavement,  surely  the 
souls  of  these  two  great  nations  will  draw 
near,  each  to  each,  and  understand  at  last. 

Here  in  a  word  is  the  fulfilment  of  the 
dream ;  that,  by  the  united  effort,  by  the 
blood,  by  the  suffering,  by  the  heartbreak 
endured  of  these  two  great  English-speaking 
races,  wars  shall  be  made  to  cease  in  all 
the  world ;  that  peace  and  happiness, 
truth  and  justice  shall  be  established  among 
us  for  all  generations,  and  that  the  united 
powers  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  races  shall  be  a 
bulwark  behind  which  Mankind  may  hence- 
forth rest  secure. 

Now,  in  the  name  of  Humanity,  I  ap- 
peal to  American  and  to  Briton  to  work 
for,  strive,  think  and  pray  for  this  great 
and  glorious  consummation. 


II 

CARTRIDGES 

At  an  uncomfortable  hour  I  arrived  at 
a  certain  bleak  railway  platform  and  in 
due  season,  stepping  into  a  train,  was 
whirled  away  northwards.  And  as  I  jour- 
neyed, hearkening  to  the  talk  of  my  com- 
panions, men  much  travelled  and  of  many 
nationalities,  my  mind  was  agog  for  the 
marvels  and  wonders  I  was  to  see  in  the 
workshops  of  Great  Britain.  Marvels  and 
wonders  I  was  prepared  for,  and  yet  for 
once  how  far  short  of  fact  were  all  my 
fancies  ! 

Britain  has  done  great  things  in  the  past; 
she  will,  I  pray,  do  even  greater  in  the 
future ;  but  surely  never  have  mortal  eyes 
looked  on  an  effort  so  stupendous  and  de- 
termined as  she  is  sustaining,  and  will 
sustain,  until  this  most  bloody  of  wars 
is  ended. 

6 


CARTRIDGES  7 

The  deathless  glory  of  our  troops,  their 
blood  and  agony  and  scorn  of  death  have 
been  made  pegs  on  which  to  hang  much 
indifferent  writing  and  more  bad  verse  — 
there  have  been  letters  also,  sheaves  of 
them,  in  many  of  which  effusions  one  may 
discover  a  wondering  surprise  that  our 
men  can  actually  and  really  fight,  that 
Britain  is  still  the  Britain  of  Drake  and 
Frobisher  and  Grenville,  of  Nelson  and 
Blake  and  Cochrane,  and  that  the  same 
deathless  spirit  of  heroic  determination 
animates  her  still. 

To-night,  as  I  pen  these  lines,  our  armies 
are  locked  in  desperate  battle,  our  guns  are 
thundering  on  many  fronts,  but  like  an 
echo  to  their  roar,  from  mile  upon  mile  of 
workshops  and  factories  and  shipyards  is 
rising  the  answering  roar  of  machinery, 
the  thunderous  crash  of  titanic  hammers, 
the  hellish  rattle  of  riveters,  the  whining, 
droning,  shrieking  of  a  myriad  wheels 
where  another  vast  army  is  engaged  night 
and  day,  as  indomitable,  as  fierce  of  purpose 
as  the  army  beyond  the  narrow  seas. 


8  GREAT  BRITAIN  AT  WAR 

I  have  beheld  miles  of  workshops  that 
stand  where  grass  grew  two  short  years 
ago,  wherein  are  bright-eyed  English  girls, 
Irish  colleens  and  Scots  lassies  by  the  ten 
thousand,  whose  dexterous  fingers  flash 
nimbly  to  and  fro,  slender  fingers,  yet  fin- 
gers contriving  death.  I  have  wandered 
through  a  wilderness  of  whirring  driving- 
belts  and  humming  wheels  where  men  and 
women,  with  the  same  feverish  activity, 
bend  above  machines  whose  very  hum 
sang  to  me  of  death,  while  I  have  watched 
a  cartridge  grow  from  a  disc  of  metal  to 
the  hellish  contrivance  it  is. 

And  as  I  watched  the  busy  scene  it 
seemed  an  unnatural  and  awful  thing  that 
women's  hands  should  be  busied  thus, 
fashioning  means  for  the  maiming  and  de- 
struction of  life  —  until,  in  a  remote  corner, 
I  paused  to  watch  a  woman  whose  dexterous 
fingers  were  fitting  finished  cartridges  into 
clips  with  wonderful  celerity.  A  middle- 
aged  woman,  this,  tall  and  white-haired, 
who,  at  my  remark,  looked  up  with  a  bright 
smile,  but  with  eyes  sombre  and  weary. 


CARTRIDGES 


ci- 


'Yes,  sir,"  she  answered  above  the  roar 
of  machinery,  "I  had  two  boys  at  the 
front,  but  —  they're  a-laying  out  there 
somewhere,  killed  by  the  same  shell.  I've 
got  a  photo  of  their  graves  —  very  neat 
they  look,  though  bare,  and  I'll  never  be 
able  to  go  and  tend  'em,  y'see  —  nor  lay 
a  few  flowers  on  'em.  So  I'm  doln'  this 
instead  —  to  help  the  other  lads.  Yes, 
sir,  my  boys  did  their  bit,  and  now  they're 
gone  their  mother's  tryin'  to  do  hers." 

Thus  I  stood  and  talked  with  this  sad- 
eved,  white-haired  woman  who  had  cast 
off^  selfish  grief  to  aid  the  Empire,  and  in 
her  I  saluted  the  spirit  of  noble  mother- 
hood ere  I  turned  and  went  my  way. 

But  now  I  woke  to  the  fact  that  my 
companions  had  vanished  utterly ;  lost, 
but  nothing  abashed,  I  rambled  on  between 
long  alleys  of  clattering  machines,  which 
in  their  many  functions  seemed  in  them- 
selves almost  human,  pausing  now  and 
then  to  watch  and  wonder  and  exchange  a 
word  with  one  or  other  of  the  many  workers, 
until    a    kindly   works-manager   found    me 


10        GREAT  BRITAIN  AT  WAR 

and  led  me  unerringly  through  that  riotous 
jungle  of  machinery. 

He  brought  me  by  devious  ways  to  a 
place  he  called  "holy  ground"  —  long,  low- 
outbuildings  approached  by  narrow,  wooden 
causeways,  swept  and  re-swept  by  men 
shod  in  felt  —  a  place  this,  where  no  dust 
or  grit  might  be,  for  here  was  the  maga- 
zine, with  the  filling  sheds  beyond.  And 
within  these  long  sheds,  each  seated  be- 
hind a  screen,  were  women  who  handled 
and  cut  deadly  cordite  into  needful  lengths 
as  if  it  had  been  so  much  ribbon,  and  al- 
ways and  everywhere  the  same  dexterous 
speed. 

He  led  me,  this  soft-voiced,  keen-eyed 
works-manager,  through  well-fitted  wards 
and  dispensaries,  redolent  of  clean,  druggy 
smells  and  the  pervading  odour  of  iodo- 
form ;  he  ushered  me  through  dining  halls 
long  and  wide  and  lofty  and  lighted  by 
many  windows,  where  countless  dinners 
were  served  at  a  trifling  cost  per  head ; 
and  so  at  last  out  upon  a  pleasant  green, 
beyond  which  rose  the  great  gates  where 


CARTRIDGES  ii 

stood  the  cars  that  were  to  bear  my  com- 
panions and  myself  upon  our  way. 

"They  seem  to  work  very  hard!"  said 
I,  turning  to  glance  back  whence  we  had 
come,  "they  seem  very  much  in    earnest." 

"Yes,"  said  my  companion,  "every  week 
we  are  turning  out  — "  here  he  named  very 
many  millions  —  "of  cartridges." 

"To  be  sure  they  are  earning  good 
money!"  said  I  thoughtfully. 

"More  than  many  of  them  ever  dreamed 
of  earning,"  answered  the  works-manager. 
"And  yet  —  I  don't  know,  but  I  don't 
think  it  is  altogether  the  money,  somehow." 

"I'm  glad  to  hear  you  say  that  —  very 
glad!"  said  I,  "because  it  is  a  great  thing 
to  feel  that  they  are  working  for  the  Britain 
that  is,  and  is  to  be." 


Ill 

RIFLES  AND   LEWIS  GUNS 

A  DRIVE  through  a  stately  street  where 
were  shops  which  might  rival  Bond  Street, 
the  Rue  de  la  Paix,  or  Fifth  Avenue  for 
the  richness  and  variety  of  their  con- 
tents ;  a  street  whose  pavements  were 
thronged  with  well-dressed  pedestrians  and 
whose  roadway  was  filled  with  motor  cars 
—  vehicles,  these,  scornful  of  the  petrol 
tax  and  such-like  mundane  and  vulgar 
restrictions  —  in  fine,  the  street  of  a  rich 
and  thriving  city. 

But  suddenly  the  stately  thoroughfare 
had  given  place  to  a  meaner  street,  its 
princely  shops  had  degenerated  into  blank 
walls  or  grimy  yards,  on  either  hand  rose 
tall  chimney  stacks  belching  smoke ;  in- 
stead of  dashing  motor  cars,  heavy  wains 

12 


RIFLES  AND   LEWIS  GUNS        13 

and  cumbrous  wagons  jogged  by ;  in  place 
of  the  well-dressed  throng  were  figures 
rough-clad  and  grimy  that  hurried  along 
the  narrow  sidewalks  —  but  these  rough- 
clad  people  walked  fast  and  purposefully. 
So  we  hummed  along  streets  wide  or  nar- 
row but  always  grimy,  until  we  were  halted 
at  a  tall  barrier  by  divers  policemen,  who, 
having  inspected  our  credentials,  per- 
mitted us  to  pass  on  to  the  factory,  or 
series  of  factories,  that  stretched  them- 
selves before  us,  building  on  building  — 
block  on  block  —  a  very  town. 

Here  we  were  introduced  to  various  man- 
agers and  heads  of  departments,  among 
whom  was  one  in  the  uniform  of  a  Captain 
of  Engineers,  under  whose  capable  wing 
I  had  the  good  fortune  to  come,  for  he,  it 
seemed,  had  lived  among  engines  and 
machinery,  had  thought  out  and  contrived 
lethal  weapons  from  his  youth  up,  and 
therewith  retained  so  kindly  and  genial  a 
personality  as  drew  me  irresistibly.  Where- 
fore I  gave  myself  to  his  guidance,  and  he, 
chatting  of  books   and   literature   and   the 


14        GREAT  BRITAIN  AT  WAR 

like  trivialities,  led  me  along  corridors 
and  passage-ways  to  see  the  wonder  of 
the  guns.  And  as  we  went,  in  the  air 
about  us  was  a  stir,  a  hum  that  grew  and 
ever  grew,  until,  passing  a  massive  swing 
door,  there  burst  upon  us  a  rumble,  a  roar, 
a  clashing  din.  f 

We  stood  in  a  place  of  gloom  lit  by  many 
fires,  a  vast  place  whose  roof  was  hid  by 
blue  vapour;  all  about  us  rose  the  dim 
forms  of  huge  stamps,  whose  thunderous 
stroke  beat  out  a  deep  diapason  to  the  ring 
of  countless  hand-hammers.  And,  lighted 
by  the  sudden  glare  of  furnace  fires  were 
figures,  bare-armed,  smoke-grimed,  wild  of 
aspect,  figures  that  whirled  heavy  sledges 
or  worked  the  levers  of  the  giant  steam- 
hammers,  while  here  and  there  bars  of 
iron  new-glowing  from  the  furnace  winked 
and  twinkled  in  the  gloom  where  those  wild, 
half-naked  men-shapes  flitted  to  and  fro  un- 
heard amid  the  thunderous  din.  Awed  and 
half  stunned,  I  stood  viewing  that  never- 
to-be-forgotten  scene  until  I  grew  aware 
that  the  Captain  was  roaring  in  my  ear. 


RIFLES  AND  LEWIS  GUNS         15 

"Forge  .  .  .  rifle  barrels  .  .  .  come  and 
see  and  mind  where  you  tread!" 

Treading  as  seemingly  silent  as  those 
wild  human  shapes,  that  straightened 
brawny  backs  to  view  me  as  I  passed,  that 
grinned  in  the  fire-glow  and  spoke  one  to 
another,  words  lost  to  my  stunned  hear- 
ing, ere  they  bent  to  their  labour  again, 
obediently  I  followed  the  Captain's  dim 
form  until  I  was  come  where,  bare-armed, 
leathern-aproned  and  be-spectacled,  stood 
one  who  seemed  of  some  account  among 
these  salamanders,  who,  nodding  to  certain 
words  addressed  to  him  by  the  Captain, 
seized  a  pair  of  tongs,  swung  open  a  furnace 
door,  and  plucking  thence  a  glowing 
brand,  whirled  it  with  practised  ease,  and 
setting  it  upon  the  dies  beneath  a  huge 
steam-hammer,  nodded  his  head.  In- 
stantly that  mighty  engine  fell  to  work, 
thumping  and  banging  with  mighty  strokes, 
and  with  each  stroke  that  glowing  steel 
bar  changed  and  changed,  grew  round, 
grew  thin,  hunched  a  shoulder  here,  showed 
a  flat  there,  until,  lo !  before  my  eyes  was 


i6        GREAT  BRITAIN  AT  WAR 

the  shape  of  a  rifle  minus  the  stock  !  Here- 
upon the  be-spectacled  salamander  nodded 
again,  the  giant  hammer  became  immedi- 
ately immobile,  the  glowing  forging  was 
set  among  hundreds  of  others  and  a  voice 
roared  in  my  ear : 

*'Two  minutes  .   .  .  this  way." 

A  door  opens,  closes,  and  we  are  in  sun- 
shine again,  and  the  Captain  is  smilingly 
reminiscent  of  books. 

"This  is  greater  than  books,"  said  I. 

"Why,  that  depends,"  says  he,  "there 
are  books  and  books  .  .  .  this  way!" 

Up  a  flight  of  stairs,  through  a  doorway, 
and  I  am  in  a  shop  where  huge  machines 
grow  small  in  perspective.  And  here  I 
see  the  rough  forging  pass  through  the  many 
stages  of  trimming,  milling,  turning,  bor- 
ing, rifling  until  comes  the  assembling,  and 
I  take  up  the  finished  rifle  ready  for  its 
final  process  —  testing.  So  downstairs  we 
go  to  the  testing  sheds,  wherefrom  as  we 
approach  comes  the  sound  of  dire  battle, 
continuous  reports,  now  in  volleys,  now  in 
single  sniping  shots,  or  in  rapid  succession. 


RIFLES  AND  LEWIS  GUNS         17 

Inside,  I  breathe  an  air  charged  with 
burnt  powder  and  behold  in  a  long  row, 
many  rifles  mounted  upon  crutches,  their 
muzzles  levelled  at  so  many  targets.  Be- 
side each  rifle  stand  two  men,  one  to  sight 
and  correct,  and  one  to  fire  and  watch 
the  effect  of  the  shot  by  means  of  a  tele- 
scope fixed  to  hand. 

With  the  nearest  of  these  men  I  incon- 
tinent fell  into  talk  —  a  chatty  fellow  this, 
who,  busied  with  pliers  adjusting  the  back- 
sight of  a  rifle,  talked  to  me  of  lines  of 
sight  and  angles  of  deflection,  his  remarks 
sharply  punctuated  by  rifle-shots,  that 
came  now  slowly,  now  in  twos  and  threes 
and  now  in  rapid  volleys. 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  he,  busy  pliers  never 
still,  "guns  and  rifles  is  very  like  us  —  you 
and  me,  say.  Some  is  just  naturally  good 
and  some  is  worse  than  bad  —  load  up, 
George  !  A  new  rifle's  like  a  kid  —  pretty 
sure  to  fire  a  bit  wide  at  first  —  not  being 
used  to  it  —  we  was  all  kids  once,  sir, 
remember !  But  a  bit  of  correction  here 
an'  there'll  put  that  right  as  a  rule.     On 


1 8         GREAT  BRITAIN  AT  WAR 

the  other  hand  there's  rifles  as  Old  Nick 
himself  nor  nobody  else  could  make  shoot 
straight  —  ready,  George  ?  And  it's  just 
the  same  with  kids  !  Now,  if  you'll  stick 
your  eyes  to  that  glass,  and  watch  the 
target,  you'll  see  how  near  she'll  come  this 
time  —  all  right,  George!"  As  he  speaks 
the  rifle  speaks  also,  and  observing  the 
hit  on  the  target,  I  sing  out : 

"Three  o'clock!" 

Ensues  more  work  with  the  pliers ; 
George  loads  and  fires  and  with  one  eye  still 
at  the  telescope  I  give  him : 

"Five  o'clock!" 

Another  moment  of  adjusting,  again  the 
rifle  cracks  and  this  time  I  announce : 

"A  bull!" 

Hereupon  my  companion  squints  through 
the  glass  and  nods:  "Right-oh,  George!" 
says  he,  then,  while  George  the  silent 
stacks  the  tested  rifle  with  many  others, 
he  turns  to  me  and  nods,  "Got  'im  that 
time,  sir  —  pity  it  weren't  a  bloomin' 
Hun!" 

Here   the  patient   Captain   suggests   we 


RIFLES  AND  LEWIS  GUNS         19 

had  better  go,  and  unwillingly  I  follow 
him  out  into  the  open  and  the  sounds  of 
battle  die  away  behind  us. 

And  now,  as  we  walked,  I  learned  some 
particulars  of  that  terrible  device  the  Lewis 
gun ;  how  that  it  could  spout  bullets  at  the 
rate  of  six  hundred  per  minute ;  how,  by 
varying  pressures  of  the  trigger,  it  could  be 
fired  by  single  rounds  or  pour  forth  its  en- 
tire magazine  in  a  continuous,  shattering 
volley  and  how  it  weighed  no  more  than 
twenty-six  pounds. 

"And  here,"  said  the  Captain,  opening 
a  door  and  speaking  in  his  pleasant  voice, 
much  as  though  he  were  showing  me  some 
rare  flowers,  "here  is  where  they  grow  by 
the  hundred,  every  week." 

And  truly  in  hundreds  they  were,  long 
rows  of  them  standing  very  neatly  in 
racks,  their  walnut  stocks  heel  by  heel, 
their  grim,  blue  muzzles  in  long,  serried 
ranks,  very  orderly  and  precise  ;  and  some- 
thing in  their  very  orderliness  endowed 
them  with  a  certain  individuality  as  it 
were.     It  almost  seemed  to  me  that  they 


20        GREAT  BRITAIN  AT  WAR 

were  waiting,  mustered  and  ready,  for  that 
hour  of  ferocious  roar  and  tumult  when 
their  voice  should  be  the  voice  of  swift 
and  terrible  death.  Now  as  I  gazed  upon 
them,  filled  with  these  scarcely  definable 
thoughts,  I  was  startled  by  a  sudden  shat- 
tering crash  near  by,  a  sound  made  up  of 
many  individual  reports,  and  swinging 
about,  I  espied  a  man  seated  upon  a  stool ; 
a  plump,  middle-aged,  family  sort  of  man, 
who  sat  upon  his  low  stool,  his  aproned 
knees  set  wide,  as  plump,  middle-aged 
family  men  often  do.  As  I  watched, 
Paterfamilias  squinted  along  the  sights  of 
one  of  these  guns  and  once  again  came  that 
shivering  crash  that  is  like  nothing  else 
I  ever  heard.  Him  I  approached  and 
humbly  ventured  an  awed  question  or  so, 
whereon  he  graciously  beckoned  me  nearer, 
vacated  his  stool,  and  motioning  me  to  sit 
there,  suggested  I  might  try  a  shot  at  the 
target,  a  far  disc  lighted  by  shaded  electric 
bulbs. 

"She's   fixed   dead  on!"   he  said,   "and 
she's    true  —  you    can't    miss.     A    quick 


RIFLES  AND  LEWIS  GUNS         21 

pull  for  single  shots  and  a  steady  pressure 
for  a  volley." 

Hereupon  I  pressed  the  trigger,  the  gun 
stirred  gently  in  its  clamps,  the  air 
throbbed,  and  a  stream  of  ten  bullets 
(the  testing  number)  plunged  into  the 
bull's-eye  and  all  in  the  space  of  a  mo- 
ment. 

"There  ain't  a  un'oly  'un  of  'em  all 
could  say  'Hoch  the  Kaiser'  with  them  in 
his  stomach,"  said  Paterfamilias  thought- 
fully, laying  a  hand  upon  the  respectable 
stomach  beneath  his  apron,  "it's  a  gun, 
that  is  !"     And  a  gun  it  most  assuredly  is. 

I  would  have  tarried  longer  with  Pater- 
familias, for  in  his  own  way,  he  was  as 
arresting  as  this  terrible  weapon  —  or  nearly 
so  —  but  the  Captain,  gentle-voiced  and 
serene  as  ever,  suggested  that  my  com- 
panions had  a  train  to  catch,  wherefore  I 
reluctantly  turned  away.  But  as  I  went, 
needs  must  I  glance  back  at  Paterfamilias, 
as  comfortable  as  ever  where  he  sat,  but 
with  pudgy  fingers  on  trigger  grimly  at 
work  again,   and    from    him_|  to    the  long, 


22         GREAT  BRITAIN  AT  WAR 

orderly    rows    of    guns    mustered    in    their 
orderly  ranks,  awaiting  their  hour. 

We  walked  through  shops  where  belts 
and  pulleys  and  wheels  and  cogs  flapped 
and  whirled  and  ground  in  ceaseless  con- 
cert, shops  where  files  rasped  and  hammers 
rang,  shops  again  where  all  seemed  riot 
and  confusion  at  the  first  glance,  but  at  a 
second  showed  itself  ordered  confusion,  as 
it  were.  And  as  we  went,  my  Captain  spoke 
of  the  hospital  bay,  of  wards  and  dispen- 
sary (lately  enlarged),  of  sister  and  nurses 
and  the  grand  work  they  were  doing 
among  the  employees  other  than  attend- 
ing to  their  bodily  ills ;  and  talking  thus, 
he  bk)ught  me  to  the  place,  a  place  of 
exquisite  order  and  tidiness,  yet  where 
nurses,  blue-uniformed,  in  their  white  caps, 
cuffs  and  aprons,  seemed  to  me  the  neatest 
of  all.  And  here  I  was  introduced  to  Sis- 
ter, capable,  strong,  gentle-eyed,  who  told 
me  something  of  her  work  —  how  many 
came  to  her  with  wounds  of  soul  as  well  as 
body ;  of  griefs  endured  and  wrongs  suf- 
fered by  reason  of  pitiful  lack  of  knowledge  ; 


RIFLES  AND  LEWIS  GUNS         23 

of  how  she  was  teaching  them  care  and 
cleanliness  of  minds  as  well  as  bodies, 
which  is  surely  the  most  blessed  heritage 
the  unborn  generations  may  inherit.  She 
told  me  of  the  patient  bravery  of  the 
women,  the  chivalry  of  grimy  men,  whose 
hurts  may  wait  that  others  may  be  treated 
first.  So  she  talked  and  I  listened  until, 
perceiving  the  Captain  somewhat  osten- 
tatiously consulting  his  watch,  I  presently 
left  that  quiet  haven  with  its  soft-treading 
ministering  attendants. 

So  we  had  tea  and  cigarettes,  and  when 
I  eventually  shook  hands  with  my  Cap- 
tain, I  felt  that  I  was  parting  with  a  friend. 

"And  what  struck  you  most  particularly 
this  afternoon.'"'  enquired  one  of  my  com- 
panions. 

"Well,"  said  I,  "it  was  either  the  Lewis 
gun  or  Paterfamilias  the  grim." 


IV 

CLYDEBANK 

Henceforth  the  word  "Clydebank" 
will  be  associated  in  my  mind  with  the 
ceaseless  ring  and  din  of  riveting-hammers, 
where,  day  by  day,  hour  by  hour,  a  new 
fleet  is  growing,  destroyers  and  torpedo 
boats  alongside  monstrous  submarines  — 
yonder  looms  the  grim  bulk  of  Super-dread- 
nought or  battle  cruiser  or  the  slender 
shape  of  some  huge  liner. 

And  with  these  vast  shapes  about  me, 
what  wonder  that  I  stood  awed  and  silent 
at  the  stupendous  sight.  But,  to  my 
companion,  a  shortish,  thick-set  man,  with 
a  masterful  air  and  a  bowler  hat  very  much 
over  one  eye,  these  marvels  were  an  every- 
day affair ;  and  now,  ducking  under  a 
steel  hawser,  he  led  me  on,  dodging  moving 

24 


CLYDEBANK  25 

trucks,  stepping  unconcernedly  across  the 
buffers  of  puffing  engines,  past  titanic 
cranes  that  swung  giant  arms  high  in  the 
air;  on  we  went,  stepping  over  chain 
cables,  wire  ropes,  pulley-blocks  and  a 
thousand  and  one  other  obstructions,  on 
which  I  stumbled  occasionally  since  my 
awed  gaze  was  turned  upwards.  And  as 
we  walked  amid  these  awsome  shapes,  he 
talked,  I  remember,  of  such  futile  things 
as  —  books. 

I  beheld  great  ships  well-nigh  ready  for 
launching ;  I  stared  up  at  huge  structures 
towering  aloft,  a  wild  complexity  of  steel 
joists  and  girders,  yet,  in  whose  seeming 
confusion,  the  eye  could  detect  something 
of  the  mighty  shape  of  the  leviathan  that 
was  to  be ;  even  as  I  looked,  six  feet  or  so 
of  steel  plating  swung  through  the  air, 
sank  into  place,  and  immediately  I  was 
deafened  by  the  hellish  racket  of  the  rivet- 
ing-hammers. 

"...  nothing  like  a  good  book  and  a 
pipe  to  go  with  it!"  said  my  companion 
between  two  bursts  of  hammering. 


26         GREAT  BRITAIN  AT  WAR 

"This  is  a  huge  ship!"  said  I,  staring 
upward  still. 

"H'm  —  fairish !"  nodded  my  com- 
panion, scratching  his  square  jaw  and 
letting  his  knowledgeful  eyes  rove  to  and 
fro  over  the  vast  bulk  that  loomed  above 


us. 


Have  you  built  them  much  bigger, 
then.^"  I  enquired. 

My  companion  nodded  and  proceeded 
to  tell  me  certain  amazing  facts  which 
the  riotous  riveting-hammers  promptly 
censored  in  the  following  remarkable 
fashion. 

"You  should  have  seen  the  rat-tat-tat. 
We  built  her  in  exactly  nineteen  months 
instead  of  two  years  and  a  half !  Biggest 
battleship  afloat  —  two  hundred  feet  longer 
than  the  rat-tat-tat  —  launched  her  last 
rat-tat-tat  —  gone  to  rat-tat-tat-tat  for  her 
guns." 

"What  size  guns.^"  I  shouted  above  the 
hammers. 

"Rat-tat-tat-tat-tat-inch!"  he  said, 
smiling  grimly. 


CLYDEBANK  27 

"How  much?"  I  yelled. 

"She  has  four  rat-tat-tat--tat  inch  and 
twelve  rattle-tattle  inch  besides  rat-tat-tat- 
tat!"  he  answered,  nodding. 

"Really!"  I  roared,  "if  those  guns  are 
half  as  big  as  I  think,  the  Germans  — " 

"The  Germans  — !"  said  he,  and  blew 
his  nose. 

"How  long  did  you  say  she  was?"  I 
hastened  to  ask  as  the  hammers  died  down 
a  little. 

"Well,  over  ail  she  measured  exactly 
rat-tat  feet.  She  was  so  big  that  we  had 
to  pull  down  a  corner  of  the  building  there, 
as  you  can  see." 

"And  what's  her  name?" 

"The  rat-tat-tat,  and  she's  the  rattle- 
tattle  of  her  class." 

"Are  these  hammers  always  quite  so 
noisy,  do  you  suppose  ?"  I  enquired,  a  little 
hopelessly. 

"Oh,  off  and  on!"  he  nodded.  "Kick 
up  a  bit  of  a  racket,  don't  they,  but  you 
get  used  to  it  in  time ;  I  could  hear  a  pin 
drop.       Look !     since     we've     stood     here 


28         GREAT  BRITAIN  AT  WAR 

they've  got  four  more  plates  fixed  —  there 
goes  the  fifth.     This  way!" 

Past  the  towerin?  bows  of  future  battle- 
ships  he  led  me,  over  and  under  more  steel 
cables,  until  he  paused  to  point  towards 
an  empty  slip  near  by. 

"That's  where  we  built  the  Lusitania!''^ 
said  he.  "We  thought  she  was  pretty  big 
then  —  but  now  —  !"  he  settled  his  hat  a 
little  further  over  one  eye  with  a  knock 
on  the  crown. 

"Poor  old  Lusitania!^^  said  I,  "she'll 
never  be  forgotten." 

"Not  while  ships  sail!"  he  answered, 
squaring  his  square  jaw,  "no,  she'll  never 
be  forgotten,  nor  the  murderers  who  ended 
her!" 

"And  they've  struck  a  medal  in  com- 
memoration," said  I. 

"Medal!"  said  he,  and  blew  his  nose 
louder  than  before.  "I  fancy  they'll  wish 
they  could  swallow  that  damn  medal,  one 
day.  Poor  old  Lusitania!  You  lose  any 
one  aboard  V 

"I  had  some  American  friends  aboard, 


CLYDEBANK  29 

but  they  escaped,  thank  God  —  others 
weren't  so  fortunate." 

"No,"  he  answered,  turning  away,  "but 
America  got  quite  angry  —  wrote  a  note, 
remember  ?  Over  there's  one  of  the  latest 
submarines.  Germany  can't  touch  her  for 
speed  and  size,  and  better  than  that,  she's 
got  rat-tat  — " 

"I  beg  pardon.?"  I  walled,  for  the  ham- 
mers were  riotous  again,  "what  has  she .?" 

"She's  got  rat-tat  forward  and  rat-tat 
aft,  surface  speed  rat-tat-tat  knots,  sub- 
merged rat-tat-tat,  and  then  best  of  all 
she's  rattle-tattle-tattle.  Yes,  hammers  are 
a  bit  noisy !  This  way.  A  destroyer  yon- 
der—  new  class  —  rat-tat  feet  longer  than 
ordinary.  We  expect  her  to  do  rat-tat-tat 
knots  and  she'll  mount  rat-tat  guns.  There 
are  two  of  them  In  the  basin  yonder  having 
their  engines  fitted,  turbines  to  give  rat- 
tat-tat  horse  power.  But  come  on,  we'd 
better  be  going  or  we  shall  lose  the  others 
of  your  party." 

"I  should  like  to  stay  here  a  week," 
said  I,  tripping  over  a  steel  hawser. 


30        GREAT  BRITAIN  AT  WAR 

"Say  a  month,"  he  added,  steadying  me 
deftly.  "You  might  begin  to  see  all  we've 
been  doing  in  a  month.  We've  built 
twenty-nine  ships  of  different  classes  since 
the  war  began  in  this  one  yard,  and  we're 
going  on  building  till  the  war's  over — and 
after  that  too.  And  this  place  is  only  one 
of  many.  Which  reminds  me  you're  to 
go  to  another  yard  this  afternoon  —  we'd 
better  hurry  after  the  rest  of  your  party  or 
they'll  be  waiting  for  you." 

"I'm  afraid  they  generally  are  !"  I  sighed, 
as  I  turned  and  followed  my  conductor 
through  yawning  doorways  (built  to  admit 
a  giant,  it  seemed)  into  vast  workshops 
whose  lofty  roofs  were  lost  in  haze.  Here 
I  saw  huge  turbines  and  engines  of  mon- 
strous shape  in  course  of  construction ; 
I  beheld  mighty  propellers,  with  boilers 
and  furnaces  big  as  houses,  whose  propor- 
tions were  eloquent  of  the  colossal  ships 
that  were  to  be.  But  here  indeed,  all 
things  were  on  a  gigantic  scale ;  ponderous 
lathes  were  turning,  mighty  planing  ma- 
chines   swung   unceasing   back    and    forth, 


CLYDEBANK  31 

while  other  monsters  bored  and  cut  through 
steel  plate  as  it  had  been  so  much  card- 
board. 

"Good  machines,  these!"'  said  my  com- 
panion, patting  one  of  these  monsters  with 
familiar  hand,  "all  made  in  Britain!" 

"Like  the  men  !"  I  suggested. 

"The  men,"  said  he.  "Humph!  They 
haven't  been  giving  much  trouble  lately 
—  touch  wood  !" 

"Perhaps  they  know  Britain  just  now 
needs  every  man  that  is  a  man,"  I  sug- 
gested, "and  some  one  has  said  that  a  man 
can  fight  as  hard  at  home  here  with  a  ham- 
mer as  in  France  with  a  rifle." 

"Well,  there's  a  lot  of  fighting  going  on 
here,"  nodded  my  companion,  "we're  fight- 
ing night  and  day  and  we're  fighting  damned 
hard.  And  now  we'd  better  hurry ;  your 
party  will  be  cursing  you  in  chorus." 

"I'm  afraid  it  has  before  now!"  said  L 

So  we  hurried  on,  past  shops  whence 
came  the  roar  of  machinery,  past  great 
basins  wherein  floated  destroyers  and  tor- 
pedo boats,  past  craft  of  many  kinds  and 


32         GREAT  BRITAIN  AT  WAR 

i 

fashions,  ships  built  and  building;  on  I 
hastened,  tripping  over  more  cables,  dodg- 
ing from  the  buffers  of  snorting  engines  and 
deafened  again  by  the  fearsome  din  of  the 
riveting-hammers,  until  I  found  my  travel- 
ling companions  assembled  and  ready  to 
depart.  Scrambling  hastily  Into  the  near- 
est motor  car  I  shook  hands  with  this 
shortish,  broad-shouldered,  square-jawed 
man  and  bared  my  head,  for,  so  far  as  these 
great  works  were  concerned,  he  was  in  very 
truth  a  superman.  Thus  I  left  him  to 
oversee  the  building  of  these  mighty  ships, 
which  have  been  and  will  ever  be  the  might 
of  these  small  islands. 

But,  even  as  I  went  speeding  through 
dark  streets,  in  my  ears,  rising  high  above 
the  hum  of  our  engine  was  the  unceasing 
din,  the  remorseless  ring  and  clash  of  the 
riveting-hammers. 


V 

SHIPS  IN  MAKING 

Build  me  straight,  O  worthy  Master ! 

Staunch  and  strong,  a  goodly  vessel, 
That  shall  laugh  at  all  disaster 

And  with  wave  and  whirlwind  wrestle  1 

—  Longfellow. 

He  was  an  old  man  with  that  Indefinable 
courtliness  of  bearing  that  is  of  a  past 
generation ;  tall  and  spare  he  was,  his 
white  head  bowed  a  Httle  by  weight  of 
years,  but  almost  with  my  first  glance  I 
seemed  to  recognise  him  instinctively  for 
that  "worthy  Master  Builder  of  goodly 
vessels  staunch  and  strong!"  So  the  Mas- 
ter Builder  I  will  call  him. 

He  stood  beside  me  at  the  window  with 
one  in  the  uniform  of  a  naval  captain,  and 
we  looked,  all  three  of  us,  at  that  which 
few  might  behold  unmoved. 

35 


34         GREAT  BRITAIN  AT  WAR 

"She's  a  beauty!"  said  the  Captain. 
"She's  all  speed  and  grace  from  cutwater  to 
sternpost." 

"I've  been  building  ships  for  sixty-odd 
years  and  we  never  launched  a  better!" 
said  the  Master  Builder. 

As  for  me  I  was  dumb. 

She  lay  within  a  stone's  throw,  a  mighty 
vessel,  huge  of  beam  and  length,  her  super- 
structure towering  proudly  aloft,  her 
massive  armoured  sides  sweeping  up  in 
noble  curves,  a  Super-Dreadnought  com- 
plete from  trucks  to  keelson.  Yacht-like 
she  sat  the  water  all  buoyant  grace  from 
lofty  prow  to  tapering  counter,  and  to  me 
there  was  something  sublime  in  the  grim 
and  latent  power,  the  strength  and  beauty 
of  her. 

"But  she's  not  so  very  —  big,  is  she.^" 
enquired  a  voice  behind  me. 

The  Captain  stared ;  the  Master  Builder 
smiled. 

"Fairly!"  he  nodded.  "Why  do  you 
ask?" 

"Well,    I   usually   reckon   the   size   of   a 


SHIPS   IN  MAKING  35 

ship  from  the  number  of  her  funnels, 
and—" 

"Ha  !"  exclaimed  the  Captain  explosively. 

"Humph!"  said  the  Master  Builder 
gently.  "After  luncheon  you  shall  meas- 
ure her  if  you  like,  but  now  I  think  we 
will  go  and  eat." 

During  a  most  excellent  luncheon  the 
talk  ranged  from  ships  and  books  and  guns 
to  submarines  and  seaplanes,  with  stories 
of  battle  and  sudden  death,  tales  of  risk 
and  hardship,  of  noble  courage  and  heroic 
deeds,  so  that  I  almost  forgot  to  eat  and 
was  sorry  when  at  last  we  rose  from  table. 

Once  outside  I  had  the  good  fortune  to 
find  myself  between  the  Captain  and  the 
venerable  figure  of  the  Master  Builder,  in 
whose  company  I  spent  a  never-to-be- 
forgotten  afternoon.  With  them  I  stood 
alongside  this  noble  ship  which,  seen  thus 
near,  seemed  mightier  than  ever. 

"Will  she  be  fast?"  I  enquired. 

"Very  fast  —  for  a  Dreadnought!"  said 
the  Captain. 

"And  at  top  speed  she'll  show  no  bow 


36         GREAT  BRITAIN  AT  WAR 

wave  to  speak  of,"  added  the  veteran. 
*'See  how  fine  her  lines  are  fore  and  aft." 

"And  her  gun  power  will  be  enormous  !" 
said  the  Captain. 

Hard  by  I  espied  a  solitary  being,  who 
stood,  chin  in  hand,  lost  in  contemplation 
of  this  large  vessel. 

"Funnels  or  not,  she's  bigger  than  you 
thought.^"  I  enquired  of  him. 

He  glanced  at  me,  shook  his  head, 
sighed,  and  took  himself  by  the  chin  again. 

"Holy  smoke  !"  said  he. 

"And  you  have  been  building  ships  for 
sixty  years?"  I  asked  of  the  venerable 
figure  beside  me. 

"And  more!"  he  answered;  "and  my 
father  built  ships  hereabouts  so  long  ago 
as  1820,  and  his  grandfather  before  him." 

"Back  to  the  times  of  Nelson  and  Rod- 
ney and  Anson,"  said  I,  "great  seamen  all, 
who  fought  great  ships  !  What  would  they 
think  of  this  one,  I  wonder  .^" 

"That  she  was  a  worthy  successor," 
replied  the  Master  Builder,  letting  his 
eyes,  so  old  and  wise  in  ships,  wander  up 


SHIPS   IN  MAKING  37 

and  over  the  mighty  fabric  before  us. 
*'Yes,"  he  nodded  decisively,  "she's  worthy 
—  like  the  men  who  will  fight  her  one  of 
these  days." 

"But  our  enemies  and  some  of  our  friends 
rather  thought  we  had  degenerated  these 
latter  days,"  I  suggested. 

"Ah,  well!"  said  he  very  quietly,  "they 
know  better  now,  don't  you  think?" 

"Yes,"  said  I,  and  again,  "Yes." 

"Slow  starters  always,"  continued  he 
musingly;  "but  the  nation  that  can  match 
us  in  staying  power  has  yet  to  be  bom!" 

So  walking  between  these  two  I  listened 
and  looked  and  asked  questions,  and  of 
what  I  heard,  and  of  what  I  saw  I  could 
write  much ;  but  for  the  censor  I  might 
tell  of  armour-belts  of  enormous  thickness, 
of  guns  of  stupendous  calibre,  of  new 
methods  of  defence  against  sneaking  sub- 
marine and  torpedo  attack,  and  of  devices 
new  and  strange ;  but  of  these  I  may  neither 
write  nor  speak,  because  of  the  aforesaid 
censor.  Suffice  it  that  as  the  sun  sank, 
we  came,   all  three,   to  a  jetty  whereto  a 


38         GREAT  BRITAIN  AT  WAR 

steamboat  lay  moored,  on  whose  limited 
deck  were  numerous  figures,  divers  of  whom 
beckoned  me  on. 

So  with  hearty  farewells,  I  stepped  aboard 
the  steamboat,  whereupon  she  snorted  and 
fell  suddenly  a-quiver  as  she  nosed  out 
into  the  broad  stream  while  I  stood  to  wave 
my  hat  in  farewell. 

Side  by  side  they  stood,  the  Captain  tall 
and  broad  and  sailor-like  in  his  blue  and 
gold  —  a  man  of  action,  bold  of  eye,  hearty 
of  voice,  free  of  gesture ;  the  other,  his 
silver  hair  agleam  in  the  setting  sun,  a 
man  wise  with  years,  gentle  and  calm-eyed, 
my  Master  Builder.  Thus,  as  the  distance 
lengthened,  I  stood  watching  until  presently 
they  turned,  side  by  side,  and  so  were  gone. 

Slowly  we  steamed  down  the  river,  a  drab, 
unlovely  waterway,  but  a  wonderful  river 
none  the  less,  whose  banks  teem  with 
workers  where  ships  are  building  —  ships 
by  the  mile,  by  the  league ;  ships  of  all 
shapes  and  of  all  sizes,  ships  of  all  sorts 
and  for  many  different  purposes.  Here 
are  great  cargo  boats  growing  hour  by  hour 


SHIPS  IN  MAKING  39 

with  liners  great  and  small ;  here  I  saw 
mile  on  mile  of  battleships,  cruisers,  de- 
stroyers and  submarines  of  strange  design 
with  torpedo  boats  of  uncanny  shape ; 
tramp  steamers,  windjammers,  squat  col- 
liers and  squatter  tugs,  these  last  surely 
the  ugliest  craft  that  ever  wallowed  in 
water.  Mine  layers  were  here  with  mine 
sweepers  and  hospital  ships  —  a  hetero- 
geneous collection  of  well-nigh  every  kind 
of  ship  that  floats. 

Some  lay  finished  and  ready  for  launch- 
ing, others,  just  begun,  were  only  a  sketch 
—  a  hint  of  what  soon  would  be  a  ship. 

On  our  right  were  ships,  on  our  left  were 
ships  and  more  ships,  a  long  perspective ; 
ships  by  the  million  tons  —  until  my  eyes 
grew  a-weary  of  ships  and  I  went  below. 

Truly  a  wonderful  river,  this,  surely  in 
its  way  the  most  wonderful  river  eyes  may 
see,  a  sight  I  shall  never  forget,  a  sight  I 
shall  always  associate  with  the  stalwart 
figure  of  the  Captain  and  the  white  hair 
and  venerable  form  of  the  Master  Builder 
as  they  stood  side  by  side  to  wave  adieu. 


VI 

THE   BATTLE   CRUISERS 

Beneath  the  shadow  of  a  mighty  bridge 
I  stepped  into  a  very  smart  launch  manned 
by  sailors  in  overalls  somewhat  grimy, 
and,  rising  and  falling  to  the  surge  of  the 
broad  river,  we  held  away  for  a  destroyer 
that  lay  grey  and  phantom-like,  low,  rakish, 
and  with  speed  in  every  line  of  her.  As 
we  drew  near,  her  narrow  deck  looked  to 
my  untutored  eye  a  confused  litter  of 
guns,  torpedo  tubes,  guy  ropes,  cables  and 
windlasses.  Howbeit,  I  clambered  aboard, 
and  ducking  under  a  guy  rope  and  avoid- 
ing sundry  other  obstructions,  shook  hands 
with  her  commander,  young,  clear-eyed 
and  cheery  of  mien,  who  presently  led 
me  past  a  stumpy  smokestack  and  up  a 
perpendicular  ladder  to  the  bridge  where, 

40 


THE   BATTLE   CRUISERS  41 

beneath  a  somewhat  flimsy-looking  struc- 
ture, was  the  wheel,  brass-bound  and 
highly  be-polished  like  all  else  about  this 
crowded  craft  as,  notably,  the  binnacle 
and  certain  brass-bound  dials,  on  the  faces 
whereof  one  might  read  such  words  as : 
Ahead,  Astern,  Fast,  Slow,  etc.  Forward 
of  this  was  a  platform,  none  too  roomy, 
where  was  a  gun  most  carefully  wrapped 
and  swaddled  in  divers  cloths,  tarpaulins, 
etc.  —  wrapped  up  with  as  much  tender 
care  as  if  it  had  been  a  baby,  and  delicate 
at  that.  But,  as  the  commander  casually 
informed  me,  they  had  been  out  patrolling 
all  night  and  "it  had  blown  a  little"  — 
wherefore  I  surmised  the  cloths  and  tar- 
paulins aforesaid. 

"I  should  think,"  I  ventured,  observing 
her  sharp  lines  and  slender  build,  "I  should 
think  she  would  roll  rather  frightfully  when 
it  does  blow  a  little  .'*" 

"Well,  she  does  a  bit,"  he  admitted,  "but 
not  so  much  —  Starboard!"  said  he,  over 
his  shoulder,  to  the  bearded  mariner  at 
the  wheel.     "Take  us  round  by  the  Tiger. ^^ 


42         GREAT  BRITAIN  AT  WAR 

"Aye,  aye,  sir!"  retorted  the  bearded 
one  as  we  began  to  slide  through  the  water. 

"Yes,   she's   apt   to   roll   a   bit,   perhaps, 
but    she's    not    so    bad,"    he    continued ; 
"besides,  you  get  used  to  It." 

Here  he  fell  to  scanning  the  haze  ahead 
through  a  pair  of  binoculars,  a  haze  through 
which,  as  we  gathered  speed,  ghostly  shapes 
began  to  loom,  portentous  shapes  that 
grew  and  grew  upon  the  sight,  turret, 
superstructure  and  embattled  mast ;  here 
a  mighty  battle  cruiser,  yonder  a  super- 
destroyer,  one  after  another,  quiet-seem- 
ing on  this  autumn  morning,  and  yet  whose 
grim  hulks  held  latent  potentialities  of 
destruction  and  death,  as  many  of  them 
have  proved  but  lately. 

As  we  passed  those  silent,  monstrous 
shapes,  the  Commander  named  them  In 
turn,  names  which  had  been  flashed  round 
the  earth  not  so  long  ago,  names  which 
shall  yet  figure  in  the  histories  to  come 
with  Grenville's  Revenge,  Drake's  Golden 
Hind,  Blake's  Triumph,  Anson's  Centurion, 
Nelson's    Victory    and    a     score    of    other 


THE   BATTLE   CRUISERS  43 

deathless  names — glorious  names  that  make 
one  proud  to  be  of  the  race  that  manned 
and  fought  them. 

Peacefully  they  rode  at  their  moorings, 
the  water  lapping  gently  at  their  steel 
sides,  but,  as  we  steamed  past,  on  more 
than  one  of  them,  and  especially  the  grim 
Tiger,  I  saw  the  marks  of  the  Jutland  battle 
in  dinted  plate,  scarred  funnel  and  super- 
structure, taken  when  for  hours  on  end  the 
dauntless  six  withstood  the  might  of  the 
German  fleet. 

So,  as  we  advanced  past  these  battle- 
scarred  ships,  I  felt  a  sense  of  awe,  that  in- 
definable uplift  of  soul  one  is  conscious  of 
when  treading  with  soft  and  reverent  foot 
the  dim  aisles  of  some  cathedral  hallowed 
by  time  and  the  dust  of  our  noble  dead. 

"This  afternoon,"  said  the  Commander, 
offering  me  his  cigarette  case,  "they're 
going  to  show  you  over  the  Warspite  — 
the  German  Navy  have  sunk  her  so  re- 
peatedly, you  know.  There,"  he  con- 
tinued, nodding  towards  a  fleet  of  squat- 
looking  vessels  with  stumpy  masts,  "those 


44         GREAT  BRITAIN  AT  WAR 

are  the  auxiliaries  —  coal  and  oil  and  that 
sort  of  thing  —  ugly  beggars,  but  useful. 
How  about  a  whisky  and  soda  ?" 

Following  him  down  the  perpendicular 
ladder,  he  brought  me  aft  to  a  hole  in  the 
deck,  a  small  hole,  a  round  hole  into  which 
he  proceeded  to  insert  himself,  first  his 
long  legs,  then  his  broad  shoulders,  evi- 
dently by  an  artifice  learned  of  much  prac- 
tice. Finally  his  jauntily  be-capped  head 
vanished,  and  thereafter  from  the  deeps 
below  his  cheery  voice  reached  me. 

"I  have  whisky,  sherry  and  rum  — 
mind  your  head  and  take  your  choice!" 

I  descended  into  a  narrow  chamber  di- 
vided by  a  longish  table  and  flanked  by 
berths  with  a  chest  of  drawers  beneath 
each.  At  the  further  end  of  this  somewhat 
small  and  dim  apartment  and  northeasterly 
of  the  table  was  a  small  be-polished  stove 
wherein  a  fire  burned  ;  in  a  rack  against 
a  bulkhead  were  some  half-dozen  rifles, 
above  our  head  was  a  rack  for  cutlasses, 
and  upon  the  table  was  a  decanter  of 
whisky  he  had  unearthed  from  some  mys- 


THE   BATTLE   CRUISERS  45 

terlous  recess,  and  he  was  very  full  of 
apologies  because  the  soda  had  run  out. 

So  we  sat  awhile  and  quaffed  and  talked, 
during  which  he  showed  me  a  favourite 
rifle,  small  of  bore  but  of  high  power  and 
exquisite  balance,  at  sight  of  which  I 
straightway  broke  the  tenth  command- 
ment. He  also  showed  me  a  portrait  of 
his  wife  (which  I  likewise  admired),  a  pic- 
ture taken  by  himself  and  by  him  developed 
in  some  dark  nook  aboard. 

After  this,  our  whisky  being  duly  de- 
spatched, we  crawled  into  the  air  again,  to 
find  we  were  approaching  a  certain  jetty. 
And  now,  in  the  delicate  manoeuvre  of 
bringing  to  and  making  fast,  my  com- 
panions, ^myself  and  all  else  were  utterly 
forgotten,  as  with  voice  and  hand  he  issued 
order  on  order  until,  gently  as  a  nesting 
bird,  the  destroyer  came  to  her  berth  and 
was  made  fast.  Hereupon,  having  shaken 
hands  all  round,  he  handed  us  over  to  other 
naval  men  as  cheery  as  he,  who  in  due 
season  brought  us  to  the  depot  ship,  where 
luncheon  awaited  us. 


46        GREAT  BRITAIN  AT  WAR 

I  have  dined  in  many  places  and  have 
eaten  with  many  different  folk,  but  never 
have  I  enjoyed  a  meal  more  than  this, 
perhaps  because  of  the  padre  who  pre- 
sided at  my  end  of  the  table.  A  manly 
cleric  this,  bright-eyed,  resolute  of  jaw 
but  humorous  of  mouth,  whose  white 
choker  did  but  seem  to  offset  the  virility 
of  him.  A  man,  I  judged,  who  preached 
little  and  did  much  —  a  sailor's  padre  in 
very  truth. 

He  told  me  how,  but  for  an  accident,  he 
would  have  sailed  with  Admiral  Cradock 
on  his  last,  ill-fated  cruise,  where  so  many 
died  that  Right  and  Justice  might  endure. 
Poor  chaps  !"  said  I. 
'Yes,"  said  he,  gently,  "and  yet  it  is 
surely  a  noble  thing  to  —  die  greatly!" 

And  surely,  surely  for  all  those  who  in 
cause  so  just  have  met  Death  unflinching 
and  unafraid,  who  have  taken  hold  upon 
that  which  we  call  Life  and  carried  it  through 
and  beyond  the  portals  of  Death  into  a 
sphere  of  nobler  and  greater  living  —  surely 
to  such  as  these  strong  souls  the  Empire 


if 


THE   BATTLE    CRUISERS  47 

they  served  so  nobly  and  loved  so  truly 
will  one  day  enshrine  them,  their  memory 
and  deeds,  on  the  brightest,  most  glorious 
page  of  her  history,  which  shall  be  a 
monument  more  enduring  than  brass  or 
stone,  a  monument  that  shall  never  pass 
away. 

So  we  talked  of  ships  and  the  sea  and  of 
men  until,  aware  that  the  company  had 
risen,  we  rose  also,  and  donning  hats  and 
coats,  set  forth,  talking  still.  Together  we 
paced  beside  docks  and  along  piers  that 
stretched  away  by  the  mile,  massive  struc- 
tures of  granite  and  concrete,  which  had 
only  come  into  being,  so  he  told  me,  since 
the  war. 

Side  by  side  we  ascended  the  broad 
gangway,  and  side  by  side  we  set  foot 
upon  that  battle-scarred  deck  whose  tim- 
bers, here  and  there,  showed  the  whiter 
patches  of  newer  wood.  Here  he  turned 
to  give  me  his  hand,  after  first  writing  down 
name  and  address,  and,  with  mutual  wishes 
of  meeting  again,  went  to  his  duties  and 
left  me  to  the  wonders  of  this  great  ship. 


48         GREAT  BRITAIN  AT  WAR 

Crossing  the  broad  deck,  more  spacious 
it  seemed  than  an  ocean  liner,  I  came 
where  my  travelling  companions  were 
grouped  about  a  grim  memorial  of  the 
Jutland  battle,  a  huge  projectile  that  had 
struck  one  of  the  after  turrets,  in  the 
doing  of  which  it  had  transformed  itself 
into  a  great,  convoluted  disc,  and  was  now 
mounted  as  a  memento  of  that  tremendous 
day. 

And  here  it  was  I  became  acquainted 
with  my  Midshipmite,  who  looked  like  an 
angel  of  sixteen,  bore  himself  like  a  veteran, 
and  spoke  (when  his  shyness  had  worn 
off  a  little)  like  a  British  fighting  man. 

To  him  I  preferred  the  request  that  he 
would  pilot  me  over  this  great  vessel,  which 
he  (blushing  a  little)  very  readily  agreed 
to  do.  Thereafter,  in  his  wake,  I  as- 
cended stairways,  climbed  ladders,  wriggled 
through  narrow  spaces,  writhed  round  awk- 
ward corners,  up  and  ever  up. 

"It's  rather  awkward,  I'm  afraid,  sir," 
said  he  in  his  gentle  voice,  hanging  from  an 
iron  ladder  with  one  hand  and  a  foot,  the 


THE   BATTLE   CRUISERS  49 

better  to  address  me,  "You  see,  we  never 
bring  visitors  this  way  as  a  rule — " 

"Good!"  said  I,  crushing  my  hat  on 
firmer.  "The  unbeaten  track  for  me  — 
lead  on!" 

Onward  and  upward  he  led  until  all  at 
once  we  reached  a  narrow  platform,  railed 
round  and  hung  about  with  plaited  rope 
screens  which  he  called  splinter-mats,  over 
which  I  had  a  view  of  land  and  water,  of 
ships  and  basins,  of  miles  of  causeways  and 
piers,  none  of  which  had  been  in  exist- 
ence before  the  war.  And  immediately 
below  me,  far,  far  down,  was  the  broad 
white  sweep  of  deck,  with  the  forward 
turrets  where  were  housed  the  great  guns 
whose  grim  muzzles  stared  patiently  up- 
wards, nuzzling  the  air  almost  as  though 
scenting  another  battle. 

And  standing  in  this  coign  of  vantage,  in 
my  mind's  eye  I  saw  this  mighty  vessel  as 
she  had  been,  the  heave  of  the  fathomless 
sea  below,  the  whirling  battle-smoke  about 
her,  the  air  full  of  the  crashing  thunder  of 
her  guns  as  she  quivered  'neath  their  dis- 


50         GREAT  BRITAIN  AT  WAR 

charge.  I  heard  the  humming  drone  of 
shells  coming  from  afar,  a  hum  that  grew 
to  a  wail  —  a  shriek  —  and  the  sickening 
crash  as  they  smote  her  or  threw  up  great 
waterspouts  high  as  her  lofty  fighting- 
tops  ;  I  seemed  to  hear  through  it  all  the 
ring  of  electric  bells  from  the  various  fire- 
controls,  and  voices  calm  and  all  unshaken 
by  the  hellish  din  uttering  commands  down 
the  many  speaking-tubes. 

"And  you,"  said  I,  turning  to  the  youth- 
ful figure  beside  me,  "you  were  in  the 
battle?" 

He  blushingly  admitted  that  he  was. 

"And  how  did  you  feel.?" 

He  wrinkled  his  smooth  brow  and  laughed 
a  little  shyly. 

"Really  I  —  I  hardly  know,  sir." 

I  asked  him  if  at  such  times  one  was 
not  inclined  to  feel  a  trifle  shaken,  a  little 
nervous,  or,  might  one  say,  afraid  ? 

"Yes,  sir,"  he  agreed  politely,  "I  sup- 
pose so  —  only,  you  see,  we  were  all  too 
jolly  busy  to  think  about  it!" 

"Oh!"   said   I,   taking  out   a   cigarette, 


THE   BATTLE   CRUISERS  51 

"too  busy  !    Of  course  !    I  see  !    And  where 
is  the  Captain  during  action,  as   a  rule?" 


a 


As  a  matter  of  fact  he  stood  —  just 
where  you  are,  sir.  Stood  there  the  whole 
six  hours  it  was  hottest." 

"Here!"  I  exclaimed.  "But  it  is  quite 
exposed." 

My  Midshipmite,  being  a  hardy  veteran 
in  world-shaking  naval  battles,  permitted 
himself  to  smile. 

"But,  you  see,  sir,"  he  gently  explained, 
"it's  really  far  safer  out  here  than  being 
shut  up  in  a  gun-turret  or  —  or  down  be- 
low, on  account  of  er  —  er  —  you  under- 
stand, sir  .^" 

"Oh,  quite!"  said  I,  and  thereafter 
thought  awhile,  and,  receiving  his  ready 
permission,  lighted  my  cigarette.  "I 
think,"  said  I,  as  we  prepared  to  descend 
from  our  lofty  perch,  "I'm  sure  it's  just 
—  cr  —  that  kind  of  thing  that  brought 
one  Francis  Drake  out  of  so  very  many 
tight  corners.  By  the  way  —  do  you 
smoke .'"' 

My    Midshipmite    blushingly    confessed 


52        GREAT   BRITAIN  AT  WAR 

he  did,  and  helped  himself  from  my  case 
with  self-conscious  fingers. 

Reaching  the  main  deck  in  due  season,  I 
found  I  had  contrived  to  miss  the  Chief 
Gunner's  lecture  on  the  great  guns,  where- 
upon who  so  agitated  and  bitterly  apolo- 
getic as  my  Midshipmite,  who  there  and 
then  ushered  me  hastily  down  more  awk- 
ward stairs  and  through  narrow  openings 
into  a  place  of  glistening,  gleaming  polish 
and  furbishment  where,  beside  the  shining 
breech  of  a  monster  gun,  muscular  arm 
negligently  leaning  thereon,  stood  a  round- 
headed,  broad-shouldered  man,  he  the  pre- 
siding genius  of  this  (as  I  afterwards  found) 
most  sacred  place. 

His  lecture  was  ended  and  he  was  ad- 
dressing a  few  well-chosen  closing  remarks 
in  slightly  bored  fashion  (he  had  showed 
off  his  ponderous  playthings  to  divers 
kings,  potentates  and  bigwigs  at  home  and 
abroad,  I  learned)  when  I,  though  properly 
awed  by  the  gun  but  more  especially  by 
the  gunner,  ventured  to  suggest  that  a  gun 
that  had  been  through  three  engagements 


THE   BATTLE   CRUISERS  53 

and  had  been  fired  so  frequently  must 
necessarily  show  some  signs  of  wear.  The 
gunner  glanced  at  me,  and  I  shall  never 
forget  that  look.  With  his  eyes  on  mine, 
he  touched  a  lever  in  negligent  fashion, 
whereon  silently  the  great  breech  slipped 
away  with  a  hiss  and  whistle  of  air,  and  with 
his  gaze  always  fixed  he  suggested  I  might 
glance  down  the  bore. 

Obediently  I  stooped,  whereon  he  spake 
on  this  wise : 

"If  you  cast  your  heyes  to  the  right 
abaft  the  breech  you'll  observe  slight  dark- 
ening of  riflin's.  Now  glancin'  t'left  of 
piece  you'll  per-ceive  slight  darkening  of 
riflin's.  Now  casting  your  heyes  right 
forrard  you'll  re-mark  slight  roughening  of 
riflin's  towards  muzzle  of  piece  and  — 
there  y'are,  sir.  One  hundred  and  twenty- 
seven  times  she's  been  fired  by  my 
'and  and  good  for  as  many  more  —  both 
of  us.  Arternoon,  gentlemen,  and  —  thank 
yc!" 

Saying  which  he  touched  a  lever  in  the 
same  negligent  fashion,  the  mighty  breech 


54         GREAT  BRITAIN  AT  WAR 

block  slid  back  into  place,   and  I    walked 
forth  humbly  into  the  outer  air. 

Here  I  took  leave  of  my  Midshipmite, 
who  stood  among  a  crowd  of  his  fellows  to 
watch  me  down  the  gangplank,  and  I  fol- 
lowed whither  I  was  led  very  full  of  thought, 
as  well  I  might  be,  until  rousing,  I  found 
myself  on  the  deck  of  that  famous  Warspite, 
which  our  foes  are  so  comfortably  certain 
lies  a  shattered  wreck  off  Jutland.  Here  I 
presently  fell  into  discourse  with  a  tall 
lieutenant,  with  whom  I  went  alow  and 
aloft ;  he  showed  me  cockpit,  infirmary 
and  engine-room ;  he  showed  me  the  won- 
der of  her  steering  apparatus,  and  pointed 
to  the  small  hand-wheel  in  the  bowels  of 
this  huge  ship  whereby  she  had  been  steered 
limping  into  port.  He  directed  my  gaze 
also  to  divers  vast  shell  holes  and  rents  in 
her  steel  sides,  now  very  neatly  mended  by 
steel  plates  held  in  place  by  many  large 
bolts.  Wherever  we  went  were  sailors, 
by  the  hundred  it  seemed,  and  yet  I  was 
struck  by  the  size  and  airy  spaciousness 
between  decks. 


THE   BATTLE   CRUISERS  55 

''The  strange  thing  about  the  Hun,'* 
said  my  companion,  as  we  mounted  up- 
ward again,  "is  that  he  is  so  amazingly  ac- 
curate with  his  big  guns.  Anyway,  as 
we  steamed  into  range  he  registered  direct 
hits  time  after  time,  and  his  misses  were 
so  close  the  spray  was  flying  all  over  us. 
Yes,  Fritz  is  wonderfully  accurate,  but" 
—  here  my  companion  paused  to  flick 
some  dust  from  his  braided  cuff  —  "but 
when  we  began  to  knock  him  about  a  bit 
it  was  funny  how  it  rattled  him  —  quite 
funny,  you  know.  His  shots  got  wider 
and  wider,  until  they  were  falling  pretty 
well  a  mile  wide  —  very  funny!"  and  the 
lieutenant  smiled  dreamily.  "Fritz  will 
shoot  magnificently  if  you  only  won't 
shoot  back.  But  really  I  don't  blame  him 
for  thinking  he'd  sunk  us  ;  you  see,  there 
were  six  of  'em  potting  away  at  us  at  one 
time  —  couldn't  see  us  for  spray — " 

"And  how  did  you  feel  just  then.?"  I 
enquired. 

"Oh,  rotten!  You  see  I'd  jammed  my 
finger  in  some  tackle  for  one  thing,     and 


56         GREAT  BRITAIN  AT  WAR 

just  then  the  light  failed  us.  We'd  have 
bagged  the  lot  if  the  light  had  held  a  little 
longer.  But  next  time  —  who  knows  ? 
Care  for  a  cup  of  tea  ?" 

"Thanks!"  I  answered.  "But  where 
are  the  others  .f*" 

"Oh,  by  Jove!  I  fancy  your  party's 
gone  —  I'll  see  !" 

This  proving  indeed  the  case,  I  perforce 
took  my  leave,  and  with  a  midshipman  to 
guide  me,  presently  stepped  aboard  a  boat 
which  bore  us  back  beneath  the  shadow  of 
that  mighty  bridge  stark  against  the  eve- 
ning sky. 

Riding  citywards  through  the  deepen- 
ing twilight  I  bethought  me  of  the  Mid- 
shipmite  who,  amid  the  roar  and  tumult 
of  grim  battle,  had  been  "too  busy"  to  be 
afraid ;  of  the  round-headed  gunner  who, 
like  his  gun,  was  ready  and  eager  for  more, 
and  of  the  tall  lieutenant  who,  with  death 
in  many  awful  shapes  shrieking  and  crash- 
ing about  him,  felt  "rotten"  by  reason 
of  a  bruised  finger  and  failing  light. 

And  hereupon  I  felt  proud  that  I,  too, 


THE   BATTLE   CRUISERS  57 

was  a  Briton,  of  the  same  breed  as  these 
mighty  ships  and  the  splendid  fellows 
who  man  them  —  these  Keepers  of  the 
Seas,  who  in  battle  as  in  tempest  do  their 
duty  unseen,  unheard,  because  it  is  their 
duty. 

Therefore,  all  who  are  so  blest  as  to  live 
within  these  isles  take  comfort  and  courage 
from  this  —  that  despite  raging  tempest 
and  desperate  battle,  we,  trusting  in  the 
justice  of  our  cause,  in  these  iron  men  and 
mighty  ships,  may  rest  secure,  since  truly 
worthy  are  these,  both  ships  and  men,  of 
the  glorious  traditions  of  the  world's  most 
glorious  navy. 

But,  as  they  do  their  duty  by  Britain 
and  the  Empire,  let  it  be  our  Inestimable 
privilege  as  fellow  Britons  to  do  our  duty 
as  nobly  both  to  the  Empire  and  —  to 
them. 


VII 

A  HOSPITAL 

The  departure  platform  of  a  great  sta- 
tion (for  such  as  have  eyes  to  see)  is  always 
a  sad  place,  but  nowadays  it  is  a  place 
of  tragedy. 

He  was  tall  and  thin  —  a  boyish  figure 
—  and  his  khaki-clad  arm  was  close  about 
her  slender  form.  The  hour  was  early  and 
their  corner  bleak  and  deserted,  thus  few 
were  by  to  heed  his  stiff-lipped,  agonised 
smile  and  the  passionate  clasp  of  her  hands, 
or  to  hear  her  heartbreaking  sobs  and  his 
brave  words  of  comfort ;  and  I,  shivering 
in  the  early  morning  wind,  hasted  on, 
awed  by  a  grief  that  made  the  grey  world 
greyer. 

Very  soon  London  was  behind  us,   and 

we   were   whirling   through    a    countryside 

58 


A  HOSPITAL  59 

wreathed  In  mist  wherein  I  seemed  to  see 
a  girl's  tear-wet  cheeks  and  a  boy's  lips 
that  smiled  so  valiantly  for  all  their 
pitiful  quiver ;  thus  I  answered  my  com- 
panion somewhat  at  random  and  the 
waiter's  proffer  of  breakfast  was  an  Insult. 
And,  as  I  stared  out  at  misty  trees  and 
hedgerow  I  began  as  It  were  to  sense  a 
grimness  In  the  very  air  —  the  million- 
sided  tragedy  of  war;  behind  me  the 
weeping  girl,  before  me  and  looming  nearer 
with  every  mile,  the  Somme  battle-front. 

At  a  table  hard  by  a  group  of  clear-eyed 
subalterns  were  chatting  and  laughing  over 
breakfast,  and  In  their  merriment  I,  too, 
rejoiced.  Yet  the  grimness  was  with  me 
still  as  we  rocked  and  swayed  through  the 
wreathing  mist. 

But  trains,  even  on  a  foggy  morning, 
have  a  way  of  getting  there  at  last,  so,  In 
due  season,  were  docks  and  more  docks, 
with  the  funnels  of  ships,  and  beyond  these 
misty  shapes  upon  a  misty  sea,  the  gaunt 
outlines  of  destroyers  that  were  to  convoy 
us  Franccwards.     Hereupon  my  companion, 


6o        GREAT  BRITAIN  AT  WAR 

K.,  a  hardened  traveller,  inured  to  customs, 
passports  and  the  like  noxious  things,  led 
me  through  a  jostling  throng,  his  long 
legs  striding  rapidly  when  they  found  oc- 
casion, past  rank  upon  rank  of  soldiers 
returning  to  duty,  very  neat  and  orderly, 
and  looking,  I  thought,  a  little  grim. 

Presently  the  warps  were  cast  oif  and 
very  soon  we  were  in  the  lift  and  roll  of  the 
Channel ;  the  white  cliffs  slowly  faded, 
the  wind  freshened,  and  I,  observing  that 
every  one  had  donned  life  belts,  forthwith 
girded  on  one  of  the  clumsy  contrivances 
also. 

In  mid-channel  it  blew  hard  and  the 
destroyers  seemed  to  be  making  heavy 
weather  of  it,  now  lost  in  spray,  now  show- 
ing a  glistening  height  of  freeboard,  and, 
as  I  watched,  remembering  why  they 
were  there,  my  cumbrous  life  belt  grew 
suddenly  very  comfortable. 

Came  a  growing  density  on  the  horizon, 
a  blue  streak  that  slowly  and  little  by  little 
grew  into  roofs,  chimneys,  docks  and  ship- 
ping,  and   France  was   before  us,   and   it 


A  HOSPITAL  6 1 

was  with  almost  reverent  hands  that  I 
laid  aside  my  clumsy  cork  jacket  and  was 
presently  on  French  soil.  And  yet,  except 
for  a  few  chattering  porters,  the  air  rang 
with  good  English  voices  hailing  each  other 
in  cheery  greetings,  and  khaki  was  every- 
where. But  now,  as  I  followed  my  com- 
panion's long  legs  past  these  serried,  dun- 
coloured  ranks,  it  seemed  to  me  that  they 
held  themselves  straighter  and  looked  a 
little  more  grim  even  than  they  had  done 
in  England. 

I  stood,  lost  in  the  busy  scene  before  me, 
when,  hearing  K.'s  voice,  I  turned  to  be 
introduced  to  Captain  R.,  tall,  bright- 
eyed,  immaculate,  and  very  much  master 
of  himself  and  circumstances  it  seemed, 
for,  despite  crowded  customs  office,  he 
whisked  us  through  and  thence  before 
sundry  officials,  who  glared  at  me  and  my 
passport,  signed,  stamped,  returned  it  and 
permitted  me  to  go. 

After  luncheon  we  drove  to  a  great  base 
hospital  where  I  was  introduced  to  the 
Colonel-Surgeon   in    charge,  a    quiet    man, 


62         GREAT  BRITAIN  AT  WAR 

who  took  us  readily  under  his  able  guid- 
ance. And  indeed  a  huge  place  was  this, 
a  place  for  me  of  awe  and  wonder,  the 
more  so  as  I  learned  that  the  greater  part 
of  it  had  come  into  being  within  one  short 
year. 

It  lies  beside  the  sea,  this  hospital,  where 
clean  winds  blow,  its  neat  roadways  are 
bordered  by  green  lawns  and  flanked  by 
long,  low  buildings  that  reach  away  in  far 
perspective,  buildings  of  corrugated  iron, 
of  wood  and  asbestos,  a  very  city,  but  one 
where  there  is  no  riot  and  rush  of  traihc, 
truly  a  city  of  peace  and  brooding  quietude. 

And  as  I  looked  upon  this  silent  city, 
my  awe  grew,  for  the  Colonel,  in  his  gentle 
voice,  spoke  of  death  and  wounds,  of  shell- 
shock,  nerve-wrack  and  insanity ;  but  he 
told  also  of  wonderful  cures,  of  miracles 
performed  on  those  that  should  have  died, 
and  of  reason  and  sanity  won  back. 

"And  you?"  I  questioned,  "have  you 
done  many  such  wonders  ?" 

"Few!"  he  answered,  and  sighed.  "You 
see,  my    duties    now    are    chiefly    adminis- 


A  HOSPITAL  63 

trativc,"  and  he  seemed  gently  grieved  that 
it  should  be  so. 

He  brought  us  into  wards,  long,  airy  and 
many-windowed,  places  of  exquisite  neat- 
ness and  order,  where  calm-faced  sisters 
were  busied,  and  smart,  soft-treading  or- 
derlies came  and  went.  Here  in  white 
cots  lay  many  bandaged  forms,  some  who, 
propped  on  pillows,  watched  us  bright- 
eyed  and  nodded  in  cheery  greeting ; 
others  who  lay  so  ominously  still. 

But  as  I  passed  between  the  long  rows  of 
cots,  I  was  struck  with  the  look  of  utter 
peace  and  content  on  so  many  of  the  faces 
and  wondered,  until,  remembering  the  hell 
whence  they  had  so  lately  come,  I  thought 
I  understood.  Thus,  bethinking  me  of 
how  these  dire  hurts  had  been  come  by,  I 
took  off  my  hat,  and  trod  between  these 
beds  of  silent  suffering  as  softly  as  I  could, 
for  these  men  had  surely  come  "out  of 
great  tribulation." 

In  another  ward  I  saw  numbers  of  Ger- 
man wounded,  most  of  them  bearded ; 
many  there  were  who  seemed  weakly  and 


64         GREAT  BRITAIN  AT  WAR 

undersized,  and  among  them  were  many 
grey  heads,  a  very  motley  company.  These, 
the  Colonel  informed  us,  received  precisely 
the  same  treatment  as  our  own  wounded, 
even  to  tobacco  and  cigarettes. 

We  followed  our  soft-voiced  conductor 
through  many  other  wards  where  he  showed 
us  strange  and  wondrous  devices  in  splints ; 
he  halted  us  by  hanging  beds  of  weird  shape 
and  cots  that  swung  on  pulleys ;  he  des- 
canted on  wounds  to  flesh  and  bone  and 
brain,  of  lives  snatched  from  the  grip  of 
Death  by  the  marvels  of  up-to-date  sur- 
gery, and  as  I  listened  to  his  pleasant 
voice  I  sensed  much  of  the  grim  wonders 
he  left  untold.  We  visited  X-ray  rooms 
and  operating  theatre  against  whose  walls 
were  glass  cases  filled  with  a  multitudinous 
array  of  instruments  for  the  saving  of  life, 
and  here  it  was  I  learned  that  in  certain 
cases,  a  chisel,  properly  handled,  was  a 
far  more  delicate  tool  than  the  finest 
saw. 

"A  wonderful  place,"  said  I  for  the 
hundredth  time  as  we  stepped  out  upon  a 


A  HOSPITAL  6s 

trim,  green  lawn.  The  Colonel-Surgeon 
smiled. 

"It  took  some  planning,"  he  admitted,  "a 
little  while  ago  it  was  a  sandy  wilderness." 

"But  these  lawns  .^"  I  demurred. 

"Came  to  me  of  their  own  accord,"  he 
answered.  "At  least,  the  seed  did,  washed 
ashore  from  a  wreck,  so  I  had  it  planted 
and  it  has  done  rather  well.  Now,  what 
else  can  I  show  you  }  It  would  take  all 
the  afternoon  to  visit  every  ward,  and  they 
are  all  much  alike  —  but  there  is  the  mad 
ward  if  you'd  care  to  see  that  ?  This  way." 

A  strange  place,  this,  divided  into  com- 
partments or  cubicles  where  were  many 
patients  in  the  familiar  blue  overalls,  most 
of  whom  rose  and  stood  at  attention  as  we  en- 
tered. Tall,  soldierly  figures  they  seemed, 
and  yet  with  an  indefinable  something  in 
their  looks  —  a  vagueness  of  gaze,  a  loose- 
lipped,  too-ready  smile,  a  vacancy  of  ex- 
pression. Some  there  were  who  scowled 
sullenly  enough,  others  who  sat  crouched 
apart,  solitary  souls,  who,  I  learned,  felt 
themselves  outcast ;   others  again  crouched 


66         GREAT  BRITAIN  AT  WAR 

in  corners  haunted  by  the  dread  of  a  pur- 
suing vengeance  always  at  hand. 

One  such  the  Colonel  accosted,  asking 
what  was  wrong.  The  man  looked  up, 
looked  down  and  muttered  unintelligibly, 
whereupon  the  Sister  spoke. 

"He  believes  that  every  one  thinks  him 
a  spy,"  she  explained,  and  touched  the 
man's  bowed  head  with  a  hand  as  gentle 
as  her  voice. 

"Shell-shock  is  a  strange  thing,"  said  the 
Colonel-Surgeon,  "and  affects  men  in  many 
extraordinary  ways,  but  seldom  perma- 
nently." 

"You  mean  that  those  poor  fellows  will 
recover.'*"  I  asked. 

"Quite  ninety  per  cent,"  he  answered  in 
his  quiet,  assured  voice. 

I  was  shown  over  laundries  complete  in 
every  detail ;  I  walked  through  clothing 
stores  where,  in  a  single  day,  six  hundred 
men  had  been  equipped  from  head  to  foot ; 
I  beheld  large  machines  for  the  sterilisation 
of  garments  foul  with  the  grime  of  battle 
and  other  things. 


A  HOSPITAL  67 

Truly,  here,  within  the  hospital  that  had 
grown,  mushroom-like,  within  the  wild, 
was  everything  for  the  alleviation  of  hurts 
and  suffering  more  aw^ful  than  our  fight- 
ing ancestors  ever  had  to  endure.  Pres- 
ently I  left  this  place,  but  now,  although  a 
clean,  fresh  wind  blew  and  the  setting  sun 
peeped  out,  the  world  somehow  seemed  a 
grimmer  place  than  ever. 

In  the  Dark  Ages,  humanity  endured 
much  of  sin  and  shame  and  suffering,  but 
never  such  as  In  this  age  of  Reason  and 
Culture.  This  same  earth  has  known  evils 
of  every  kind,  has  heard  the  screams  of 
outraged  innocence,  the  groan  of  tortured 
flesh,  and  has  reddened  beneath  the  heel 
of  Tyranny;  this  same  sun  has  seen  the 
smoke  and  ravishment  of  cities  and  been 
darkened  by  the  hateful  mists  of  war  — 
but  never  such  a  war  as  this  of  cultured 
barbarity  with  all  its  new  devilishness. 
Shell-shock  and  insanity,  poison  gas  and 
slow  strangulation,  liquid  fire  and  poison 
shells.  Rape,  Murder,  Robbery,  Piracy, 
Slavery  —  each  and  every  crime  is  here  — 


68         GREAT  BRITAIN  AT  WAR 

never  has  humanity  endured  all  these 
horrors  together  until  now. 

But  remembering  by  whose  will  these 
evils  have  been  loosed  upon  the  world, 
remembering  the  innocent  blood,  the  bit- 
ter tears,  the  agony  of  soul  and  heartbreak, 
I  am  persuaded  that  Retribution  must 
follow  as  sure  as  to-morrow's  dawn.  The 
evil  that  men  do  lives  after  them  and  lives 
on  for  ever. 

Should  they,  who  have  worked  for  and 
planned  this  misery,  escape  the  ephemeral 
justice  of  man,  there  is  yet  the  inexorable 
tribunal  of  the  Hereafter,  which  no  trans- 
gressor, small  or  great,  humble  or  mighty, 
may  in  any  wise  escape. 


VIII 

THE  GUNS 

A  FINE,  brisk  morning ;  a  long,  tree- 
bordered  road  dappled  with  fugitive  sun- 
beams, making  a  glory  of  puddles  that  leapt 
in  shimmering  spray  beneath  our  flying 
wheels.  A  long,  straight  road  that  ran  on 
and  on  unswerving,  uphill  and  down,  be- 
neath tall,  straight  trees  that  flitted  past  in 
never-ending  procession,  and  beyond  these 
a  rolling,  desolate  countryside  of  blue  hills 
and  dusky  woods ;  and  in  the  air  from 
beyond  this  wide  horizon  a  sound  that  rose 
above  the  wind  gusts  and  the  noise  of  our 
going,  a  faint  whisper  that  seemed  in  the 
air  close  about  us  and  yet  to  be  of  the  vague 
distances,  a  whisper  of  sound,  a  stammer- 
ing murmur,  now  rising,  now  falling,  but 
never  quite  lost. 

69 


70         GREAT  BRITAIN  AT  WAR 

In  rain-sodden  fields  to  right  and  left  were 
many  figures  bent  in  diligent  labour,  men 
in  weatherworn,  grey-blue  uniforms  and 
knee-boots,  while  on  the  roadside  were  men 
who  lounged,  or  sat  smoking  cigarettes, 
rifle  across  knees  and  wicked-looking  bay- 
onets agleam,  wherefore  these  many  German 
prisoners  toiled  with  the  unremitting  dili- 
gence aforesaid. 

The  road  surface  improving  somewhat 
we  went  at  speed  and,  as  we  lurched  and 
swayed,  the  long,  straight  road  grew  less 
deserted.  Here  and  there  transport  lorries 
by  ones  and  twos,  then  whole  convoys 
drawn  up  beside  the  road,  often  axle  deep 
in  mud,  or  lumbering  heavily  onwards ; 
and  ever  as  we  went  that  ominous,  stammer- 
ing murmur  beyond  the  horizon  grew 
louder  and  more  distinct. 

On  we  went,  through  scattered  villages 
alive  with  khaki-clad  figures  with  morions 
cocked  at  every  conceivable  angle,  past 
leafy  lanes  bright  with  the  wink  of  long 
bayonets ;  through  country  towns,  whose 
wide  squares  and  narrow,  old-world  streets 


THE  GUNS  71 

rang  with  the  ordered  tramp  of  feet,  the 
stamp  of  horses  and  rumble  of  gun  wheels, 
where  ruddy  English  faces  turned  to  stare 
and  broad  khaki  backs  swung  easily  be- 
neath their  many  accoutrements.  And  in 
street  and  square  and  by-street,  always  and 
ever  was  that  murmurous  stammer  of 
sound  more  ominous  and  threatening,  yet 
which  nobody  seemed  to  heed  —  not  even 
K.,  my  companion,  who  puffed  his  cigarette 
and  "was  glad  it  had  stopped  raining." 

So,  picking  our  way  through  streets 
athrong  with  British  faces,  dodging  guns 
and  limbers,  wagons  and  carts  of  all  de- 
scriptions, we  came  out  upon  the  open 
road  again.  And  now,  there  being  no 
surface  at  all  to  speak  of,  we  perforce  went 
slow,  and  I  watched  where,  just  In  front,  a 
string  of  lorries  lumbered  heavily  along, 
pitching  and  rolling  very  much  like  boats 
in  a  choppy  sea. 

Presently  we  halted  to  let  a  column  go 
by,  officers  a-horse  and  a-foot  with  the  long 
files  behind,  but  all  alike  splashed  and 
spattered    with    mud.     Men,    these,    who 


72        GREAT  BRITAIN  AT  WAR 

carried  their  rifles  anyhow,  who  tramped 
along,  rank  upon  rank,  weary  men,  who 
showed  among  them  here  and  there  grim 
evidence  of  battle  —  rain-sodden  men  with 
hair  that  clung  to  muddy  brows  beneath 
the  sloping  brims  of  muddy  helmets ;  men 
who  tramped  ankle-deep  in  mud  and  who 
sang  and  whistled  blithe  as  birds.  So  they 
splashed  wearily  through  the  mud,  up- 
borne in  their  fatigue  by  that  indomitable 
spirit  that  has  always  made  the  Briton  the 
fighting  man  he  is. 

At  second  speed  we  toiled  along  again 
behind  the  lorries  who  were  making  as  bad 
weather  of  it  as  ever,  when  all  at  once  I 
caught  my  breath,  hearkening  to  the  far, 
faint  skirling  of  Highland  bagpipes,  and, 
leaning  from  the  car,  saw  before  us  a  com- 
pany of  Highlanders,  their  mud-splashed 
knees  a-swing  together,  their  khaki  kilts 
swaying  in  rhythm,  their  long  bayonets 
a-twinkle,  while  down  the  wind  came  the 
regular  tramp  of  their  feet  and  the  wild, 
frenzied  wailing  of  their  pipes.  Soon  we 
were    up    with    them,    bronzed,    stalwart 


THE  GUNS  73 

figures,  grim  fighters  from  muddy  spatter- 
dashes to  steel  helmets,  beneath  which  eyes 
turned  to  stare  at  us — eyes  blue  and  merry, 
eyes  dark  and  sombre  —  as  they  swung 
along  to  the  lilting  music  of  the  pipes. 

At  the  rear  the  stretcher-bearers  marched, 
the  rolled-up  stretchers  upon  their  shoul- 
ders ;  but  even  so,  by  various  dark  stains 
and  marks  upon  that  dingy  canvas,  I  knew 
that  here  was  a  company  that  had  done  and 
endured  much.  Close  by  me  was  a  man 
whose  hairy  knee  was  black  with  dried 
blood  —  to  him  I  tentatively  proffered  my 
cigarette  case. 

"WuU  ye  hae  one  the  noo?"  I  ques- 
tioned. For  a  moment  he  eyed  me  a  trifle 
dour  and  askance,  then  he  smiled  (a  grave 
Scots  smile). 

"Thank  ye,  I  wull  that!"  said  he,  and 
extracted  the  cigarette  with  muddy  fingers. 

"Ye'll  hae  a  sore  leg,  I'm  thinking!" 
said  L 

"Ou  aye,"  he  admitted  with  the  same 
grave  smile,  "but  it's  no  sae  mucklc  as  a' 
that  —  juist  a  wee  bit  skelpit  I  — " 


74         GREAT  BRITAIN  AT  WAR 

Our  car  moved  forward,  gathered  speed, 
and  we  bumped  and  swayed  on  our  way; 
the  bagpipes  shrieked  and  wailed,  grew 
plaintively  soft,  and  were  drowned  and 
lost  in  that  other  sound  which  was  a  murmur 
no  longer,  but  a  rolling,  distant  thunder, 
with  occasional  moments  of  silence. 

"Ah,  the  guns  at  last!"  said  I. 

"Yes,"  nodded  K.,  lighting  another 
cigarette,  "I've  been  listening  to  them  for 
the  last  hour." 

Here  my  friend  F.,  who  happened  to  be 
the  Intelligence  Officer  in  charge,  leaned 
forward  to  say : 

"I'm  afraid  we  can't  get  into  Beaumont 
Hamel,  the  Boches  are  strafing^'  it  rather, 
this  morning,  but  we'll  go  as  near  as  we 
can  get,  and  then  on  to  what  was  La  Boiselle. 
We  shall  leave  the  car  soon,  so  better  get 
into  your  tin  hats."  Forthwith  I  buckled 
on  one  of  the  morions  we  had  brought  for 
the  purpose  and  very  uncomfortable  I 
found  it.  Having  made  it  fairly  secure,  I 
turned,  grinning  furtively,  to  behold  K.'s 
classic  features  crowned  with  his  outlandish- 


THE  GUNS  75 

seeming  headgear,  and  presently  caught  him 
grinning  furtively  at  mine. 

"They're  not  so  heavy  as  I  expected," 
said  I. 

"About  half  a  pound,"  he  suggested. 

Pulling  up  at  a  shell-shattered  village  we 
left  the  car  and  trudged  along  a  shell-torn 
road,  along  a  battered  and  rusty  railway 
line,  and  presently  struck  into  a  desolate 
waste  intersected  by  sparse  hedgerows 
and  with  here  and  there  desolate,  leafless 
trees,  many  of  which,  in  shattered  trunk 
and  broken  bough,  showed  grim  traces  of 
what  had  been ;  and  ever  as  we  advanced 
these  ugly  scars  grew  more  frequent,  and 
we  were  continually  dodging  sullen  pools 
that  were  the  work  of  bursting  shells. 
And  then  it  began  to  rain  again. 

On  we  went,  splashing  through  puddles, 
slipping  in  mud,  and  ever  as  we  went  my 
boots  and  my  uncomfortable  helmet  grew 
heavier  and  heavier,  while  in  the  heaven 
above,  in  the  earth  below  and  in  the  air 
about  us  was  the  quiver  and  thunder  of 
unseen  guns.     As  we  stumbled  through  the 


^(>         GREAT  BRITAIN  AT  WAR 

muddy  desolation  I  beheld  wretched  hovels 
wherein  khaki-clad  forms  moved,  and  from 
one  of  these  damp  and  dismal  structures  a 
merry  whistling  issued,  with  hoarse  laughter. 

On  we  tramped,  through  rain  and  mud, 
which,  like  my  helmet,  seemed  to  grow 
momentarily  heavier. 

"  K.,"  said  I,  as  he  floundered  into  a  shell 
hole,  "about  how  heavy  did  you  say  these 
helmets  were  ?"  ; 

"About  a  pound!"  said  he,  fierce-eyed. 
"Confound  the  mud  !" 

Away  to  our  left  and  high  in  air  a  puff 
of  smoke  appeared,  a  pearl-grey,  fleecy 
cloud,  and  as  I,  unsuspecting,  watched  it 
writhe  into  fantastic  shapes,  my  ears  were 
smitten  with  a  deafening  report,  and  in- 
stinctively I  ducked. 

"Shrapnel!"  said  F.,  waving  his  hand 
in  airy  introduction.  "They're  searching 
the  road  yonder  I  expect  —  ah,  there  goes 
another !  Yes,  they're  trying  the  road 
yonder  —  but  here's  the  trench  —  in  with 
you!" 

I  am  free  to  confess  that  I  entered  that 


THE  GUNS  77 

trench  precipitately  —  so  hurriedly,  in  fact, 
that  my  helmet  fell  off,  and,  as  I  replaced 
it,  I  was  not  sorry  to  see  that  this  trench 
was  very  deep  and  narrow.  As  we  pro- 
gressed, very  slowly  by  reason  of  clinging 
mud,  F.  informicd  us  that  this  trench  had 
been  our  old  front  line  before  we  took 
Beaumont  Hamel ;  and  I  noticed  many 
things,  as,  clips  of  cartridges,  unexploded 
bombs,  Lewis-gun  magazines,  parts  of  a 
broken  machine  gun,  and  various  odds  and 
ends  of  accoutrements.  In  some  places 
this  trench  had  fallen  in  because  of  rain  and 
other  things  and  was  almost  impassable, 
wherefore,  after  much  floundering  and 
splashing,  F.  suggested  we  should  climb 
out  again,  which  we  did  forthwith,  very 
moist  and  muddy. 

And  thus  at  last  I  looked  at  that  wide 
stretch  of  country  across  which  our  men 
had  advanced  unshaken  and  undismayed, 
through  a  hell  the  like  of  which  the  world 
had  never  known  before ;  and,  as  I  stood 
there,  I  could  almost  see  those  long,  ad- 
vancing waves  of  khaki-clad  figures,  their 


78         GREAT  BRITAIN  AT  WAR 

ranks  swept  by  the  fire  of  countless  rifles 
and  machine  guns,  pounded  by  high  ex- 
plosives, blasted  by  withering  shrapnel,  lost 
in  the  swirling  death-mist  of  poison  gas  — ■ 
heroic  ranks  which,  rent  asunder,  shattered, 
torn,  yet  swung  steadily  on  through  smoke 
and  flame,  unflinching  and  unafraid.  As 
if  to  make  the  picture  more  real,  came  the 
thunderous  crash  of  a  shell  behind  us,  but 
this  time  I  forgot  to  duck. 

Far  in  front  of  us  I  saw  a  huge  puff  of 
smoke,  and  as  it  thinned  out  beheld  clouds 
of  earth  and  broken  beams  that  seemed  to 
hang  suspended  a  moment  ere  they  fell  and 
vanished.  After  a  moment  came  another 
puff  of  smoke  further  to  our  right,  and  be- 
yond this  another,  and  again,  beyond  this, 
another. 

"A  battery  of  heavies,"  said  F. 

Even  as  he  spoke  the  four  puffs  burst 
forth  again  and  upon  exactly  the  same 
ground. 

At  this  juncture  a  head  appeared  over 
the  parapet  behind  us  and  after  some  talk 
with  F.,  came  one  who  tendered  us  a  pair 


THE  GUNS  79 

of  binoculars,  by  whose  aid  I  made  out  the 
British  new  Hne  of  trenches  which  had  once 
been  German.  So  I  stood,  dry-mouthed, 
to  watch  the  burst  of  those  huge  shells 
exploding  upon  our  British  line.  Fasci- 
nated, I  stared  until  F.'s  hand  on  my  arm 
aroused  me,  and  returning  the  glasses  with 
a  hazy  word  of  thanks  I  followed  my  com- 
panions, though  often  turning  to  watch  the 
shooting  which  now  I  thought  much  too 
good. 

And  now  we  were  traversing  the  great 
battlefield  where,  not  long  since,  so  many 
of  our  bravest  had  fallen  that  Britain  might 
still  be  Britain.  Even  yet,  upon  its  torn 
and  trampled  surface  I  could  read  some- 
thing of  the  iight  —  here  a  broken  shoulder 
belt,  there  a  cartridge  pouch,  yonder  a 
stained  and  tattered  coat,  while  every- 
where lay  bombs,  English  and  German. 

"If  you  want  to  see  La  Boiselle  properly 
we  must  hurry!"  said  F.,  and  oif  he  went 
at  the  double  with  K.'s  long  legs  striding 
beside  him,  but,  as  for  me,  I  must  needs 
turn  for  one  last  look  where  those  deadly 


8o         GREAT  BRITAIN  AT  WAR 

smoke  puffs  came  and  went  with  such 
awful  regularity. 

The  rain  had  stopped,  but  It  was  three 
damp  and  mud-spattered  wretches  who 
clambered  back  into  the  waiting  car. 

"K.,"  said  I,  as  we  removed  our  cum- 
brous headgear,  "about  how  much  do  you 
suppose  these  things  v/elgh.^" 

"Fully  a  ton!"  he  answered,  jerking  his 
cap  over  his  eyes  and  scowllngly  accepting 
a  cigarette. 

Very  soon  the  shattered  village  was  far 
behind  and  we  were  threading  a  devious 
course  between  huge  steam-tractors,  guns, 
motor-lorries  and  more  guns.  We  passed 
soldiers  a-horse  and  a-foot  and  long  strings 
of  ambulance  cars ;  to  right  and  left  of  the 
road  were  artillery  parks  and  great  camps, 
that  stretched  away  into  the  distance. 
Here  also  were  vast  numbers  of  the  ubiqui- 
tous motor-lorry  with  many  three-wheeled 
tractors  for  the  big  guns.  We  sped  past 
hundreds  of  horses  picketed  In  long  lines ; 
past  countless  tents  smeared  crazily  in 
various  coloured  paints ;     past  huts  little 


THE  GUNS  8 1 

and  huts  big;  past  swamps  knee-deep  in 
mud  where  muddy  men  were  taking  down 
or  setting  up  other  tents.  On  we  sped 
through  all  the  confused  order  of  a  mighty 
army,  until,  chancing  to  raise  my  eyes 
aloft,  I  beheld  a  huge  balloon,  which,  as  I 
watched,  mounted  up  and  up  into  the  air. 

"One  of  our  sausages  !"  said  F.,  gloA'ed 
hand  waving.  "Plenty  of  'em  round  here; 
see,  there's  another  in  that  cloud,  and 
beyond  it  another." 

So  for  a  while  I  rode  with  my  eyes  turned 
upwards,  and  thus  I  presently  saw  far 
ahead  many  aeroplanes  that  flew  in  strange, 
zigzag  fashion,  now  swooping  low,  now 
climbing  high,  now  twisting  and  turning 
giddily. 

"Some  of  our  'planes  under  fire!"  said 
F.,  "you  can  see  the  shrapnel  bursting  all 
around  'em  —  there's  the  smoke  —  we  call 
'em  woolly  bears.  Won't  see  any  Boche 
'planes,  though  —  rather  not !  " 

Amidst  all  these  wonders  and  marvels 
our  fleet  car  sped  on,  jolting  and  lurching 
violently  over  ruts,  pot-holes  and  the  like 


82         GREAT  BRITAIN  AT  WAR 

until  we  came  to  a  part  of  the  road  where 
many  men  were  engaged  with  pick  and 
shovel ;  and  here,  on  either  side  of  the 
highway,  I  noticed  many  grim-looking  heaps 
and  mounds  —  ugly,  shapeless  dumps,  de- 
pressing in  their  very  hideousness.  Beside 
one  such  unlovely  dump  our  car  pulled  up, 
and  F.,  gloved  finger  pointing,  announced  : 

"The  Church  of  La  Boiselle.  That  heap 
you  see  yonder  was  once  the  Mairie,  and 
beyond,  the  schoolhouse.  The  others  were 
houses  and  cottages.  Oh,  La  Boiselle  was 
quite  a  pretty  place  once.  We  get  out 
here  to  visit  the  guns  —  this  way." 

Obediently  I  followed  whither  he  led, 
nothing  speaking,  for  surely  here  was 
matter  beyond  words.  Leaving  the  road, 
we  floundered  over  what  seemed  like  ash 
heaps,  but  which  had  once  been  German 
trenches  faced  and  reinforced  by  concrete 
and  steel  plates.  Many  of  these  last  lay 
here  and  there,  awfully  bent  and  twisted, 
but  of  trenches  I  saw  none  save  a  few  yards 
here  and  there  half  filled  with  indescribable 
debris.     It  was,  indeed,  a  place  of  horror  — 


THE  GUNS  83 

a  frightful  desolation  beyond  all  words. 
Everywhere  about  us  were  signs  of  dreadful 
death  —  they  came  to  one  in  the  very  air, 
in  lowering  heaven  and  tortured  earth. 
Far  as  the  eye  could  reach  the  ground  was 
pitted  with  great  shell  holes,  so  close  that 
they  broke  into  one  another  and  formed 
horrid  pools  full  of  shapeless  things  within 
the  slime. 

Across  this  hellish  waste  I  went  cau- 
tiously by  reason  of  torn  and  twisted  tangles 
of  German  barbed  wire,  of  hand  grenades 
and  huge  shells,  of  broken  and  rusty  iron 
and  steel  that  once  were  deadly  machine 
guns.  As  I  picked  my  way  among  all  this 
flotsam,  I  turned  to  take  up  a  bayonet, 
slipped  in  the  slime  and  sank  to  my  waist 
In  a  shell  hole  —  even  then  I  didn't  touch 
bottom,  but  scrambled  out,  all  grey  mud 
from  waist  down  —  but  I  had  the  bayonet. 

It  was  in  this  woeful  state  that  I  shook 
hands  with  the  Major  of  the  battery.  And 
as  we  stood  upon  that  awful  waste,  he 
chattered,  I  remember,  of  books.  Then, 
side  by  side,  we  came  to  the  battery  —  four 


84         GREAT  BRITAIN  AT  WAR 

mighty  howitzers,  that  crashed  and  roared 
and  shook  the  very  earth  with  each  dis- 
charge, and  whose  shells  roared  through  the 
air  with  the  rush  of  a  dozen  express  trains. 

Following  the  Major's  directing  finger,  I 
fixed  my  gaze  some  distance  above  the 
muzzle  of  the  nearest  gun  and,  marvel  of 
marvels,  beheld  that  dire  messenger  of 
death  and  destruction  rush  forth,  soaring, 
upon  its  way,  up  and  up,  until  it  was  lost 
in  cloud.  Time  after  time  I  saw  the  huge 
shells  leap  skywards  and  vanish  on  their 
long  journey,  and  stood  thus  lost  in  wonder, 
and  as  I  watched  I  could  not  but  remark 
on  the  speed  and  dexterity  with  which  the 
crews  handled  these  monstrous  engines. 

"Yes,"  nodded  the  Major,  "strange  thing 
is  that  a  year  ago  they  werenH,  you  know  — 
guns  weren't  in  existence  and  the  men 
weren't  gunners  —  clerks  an'  all  that  sort 
of  thing,  you  know  —  civilians,  what.?" 

"They're  pretty  good  gunners  now  — 
judging  by  effect ! "  said  I,  nodding  towards 
the  abomination  of  desolation  that  had 
once  been  a  village. 


THE  GUNS  8s 

"Rather!"  nodded  the  Major,  cheerily, 
"used  to  think  it  took  three  long  years  to 
make  a  gunner  once  —  do  it  in  six  short 
months  now !  Pretty  good  going  for  old 
England,  what  ?  How  about  a  cup  of  tea 
in  my  dugout  ?" 

But  evening  was  approaching,  and  having 
far  to  go  we  had  perforce  to  refuse  his  hos- 
pitality and  bid  him  a  reluctant  good-by. 

"Don't  forget  to  take  a  peep  at  the  mine 
craters,"  said  he,  and  waving  a  cheery  adieu, 
vanished  into  his  dugout. 

Ten  minutes'  walk,  along  the  road,  and 
before  us  rose  a  jagged  mount,  and  beyond 
it  another,  uncanny  hills,  seared  and  cracked 
and  sinister,  up  whose  steep  slopes  I 
scrambled  and  into  whose  yawning  depths 
I  gazed  in  awestruck  wonder;  so  deep,  so 
wide  and  huge  of  circumference,  it  seemed 
rather  the  result  of  some  titanic  convulsion 
of  nature  than  the  handiwork  of  man. 

I  could  imagine  the  cataclysmic  roar  of 
the  explosion,  the  smoke  and  flame  of  the 
mighty  upheaval  and  war  found  for  me 
yet   another   horror   as    I    turned    and    de- 


86         GREAT  BRITAIN  AT  WAR 

scended  the  precipitous  slope.  Now,  as  I 
went,  I  stumbled  over  a  small  mound,  then 
halted  all  at  once,  for  at  one  end  of  this  was 
a  very  small  cross,  rudely  constructed  and 
painted  white,  and  tacked  to  this  a  strip  of 
lettered  tin,  bearing  a  name  and  number, 
and  beneath  these  the  words,  "One  of  the 
best."  So  I  took  off  my  hat  and  stood 
awhile  beside  that  lonely  mound  of  muddy 
earth  ere  I  went  my  way. 

Slowly  our  car  lurched  onward  through 
the  waste,  and  presently  on  either  side  the 
way  I  saw  other  such  mounds  and  crosses, 
by  twos  and  threes,  by  fifties,  by  hundreds, 
in  long  rows  beyond  count.  And  looking 
around  me  on  this  dreary  desolation  I 
knew  that  one  day  (since  nothing  dies) 
upon  this  place  of  horror  grass  would  grow 
and  flowers  bloom  again ;  along  this  now 
desolate  and  deserted  road  people  would 
come  by  the  thousand ;  these  humble 
crosses  and  mounds  of  muddy  earth  would 
become  to  all  Britons  a  holy  place  where  so 
many  of  our  best  and  bravest  lie,  who,  un- 
dismayed, have  passed  through  the  portals 


THE  GUNS  87 

of   Death   Into   the   fuller,    greater,    nobler 
living. 

Full  of  such  thoughts  I  turned  for  one 
last  look,  and  then  I  saw  that  the  setting 
sun  had  turned  each  one  of  these  humble 
little  crosses  Into  things  of  shining  glory. 


IX 

A  TRAINING   CAMP 

The  great  training  camp  lay,  a  rain- 
lashed  wilderness  of  windy  levels  and 
bleak,  sandy  hills,  range  upon  range,  far 
as  the  eye  could  see,  with  never  a  living 
thing  to  break  the  monotony.  But  pres- 
ently, as  our  car  lurched  and  splashed  upon 
its  way,  there  rose  a  sound  that  grew  and 
grew,  the  awesome  sound  of  countless 
marching  feet. 

On  they  came,  these  marching  men, 
until  we  could  see  them  by  the  hundred, 
by  the  thousand,  their  serried  ranks  stretch- 
ing away  and  away  until  they  were  lost 
in  distance.  Scots  were  here.  Lowland  and 
Highland ;  English  and  Irish  were  here, 
with  bronzed  New  Zealanders,  adventurous 
Canadians  and  hardy  Australians ;  men, 
these,  who  had  come  joyfully  across  half 

88 


A  TRAINING  CAMP  89 

the  world  to  fight,  and,  If  need  be,  die  for 
those  ideals  which  have  made  the  Empire 
assuredly  the  greatest  and  mightiest  this 
world  has  ever  known.  And  as  I  listened 
to  the  rhythmic  tramp  of  these  countless 
feet,  It  seemed  like  the  voice  of  this  vast 
Empire  proclaiming  to  the  world  that 
Wrong  and  Injustice  must  cease  among 
the  nations ;  that  man,  after  all,  despite 
all  the  "Frightfulness"  that  warped  in- 
telligence may  conceive,  Is  yet  faithful  to 
the  highest  In  him,  faithful  to  that  death- 
less, purposeful  determination  that  Right 
shall  endure,  the  abiding  belief  of  which 
has  brought  him  through  the  dark  ages, 
through  blood  and  misery  and  shame,  on 
his  progress  ever  upward. 

So,  while  these  men  of  the  Empire 
tramped  past  through  blinding  rain  and 
wind,  our  car  stopped  before  a  row  of 
low-lying  wooden  buildings,  whence  pres- 
ently Issued  a  tall  man  In  rain-sodden  trench 
cap  and  burberry,  who  looked  at  me  with 
a  pair  of  very  dark,  bright  eyes  and  gripped 
my  hand  in  hearty  clasp. 


90         GREAT  BRITAIN  AT  WAR 

He  was  apologetic  because  of  the  rain, 
since,  as  he  informed  us,  he  had  just  or- 
dered all  men  to  their  quarters,  and  thus 
m 

I  should  see  nothing  doing  in  the  training 
line ;  nevertheless  he  cheerfully  offered 
to  show  us  over  the  camp,  despite  mud 
and  wind  and  rain,  and  to  explain  things 
as  fully  as  he  could ;  whereupon  we  as 
cheerfully  accepted. 

The  v/ind  whistled  about  us,  the  rain 
pelted  us,  but  the  Major  heeded  it  nothing 
—  neither  did  I  —  while  K.  loudly  con- 
gratulated himself  on  having  come  In 
waders  and  waterproof  hat,  as,  through 
mud  and  mire,  through  puddles  and  clog- 
ging sand,  we  followed  the  Major's  long 
boots,  crossing  bare  plateaux,  climbing 
precipitous  slopes,  leaping  trenches,  slip- 
ping and  stumbling,  while  ever  the  Major 
talked,  wherefore  I  heeded  not  wind  or 
rain,  for  the  Major  talked  well. 

He  descanted  on  the  new  and  horribly 
vicious  methods  of  bayonet  fighting  — 
the  quick  thrust  and  lightning  recovery ; 
struggling   with   me   upon   a   sandy,    rain- 


A  TRAINING   CAMP  91 

swept  height,  he  showed  me  how,  in  wrest- 
ling for  your  opponent's  rifle,  the  bayonet 
Is  the  thing.  He  halted  us  before  devill^ 
contrivances  of  barbed  wire,  each  different 
from  the  other,  but  each  just  as  ugly.  He 
made  us  peep  through  loopholes,  each  and 
every  different  from  the  other,  yet  each  and 
every  skilfully  hidden  from  an  enemy's  obser- 
vation. We  stood  beside  trenches  of  every 
shape  and  kind  while  he  pointed  out  their 
good  and  bad  points ;  he  brought  us  to  a 
place  where  dummy  figures  had  been  set  up, 
their  rags  a-flutter,  forlorn  objects  in  the  rain. 
"Here,"  said  he,  "Is  where  we  teach 
'em  to  throw  live  bombs  —  you  can  see 
where  they've  been  exploding ;  dummies 
look  a  bit  off-colour,  don't  they?"  And 
he  pointed  to  the  ragged  scarecrows  with 
his  whip.  "You  know,  I  suppose,"  he 
continued,  "that  a  Mills'  bomb  Is  quite 
safe  until  you  take  out  the  pin,  and  then  it 
is  quite  safe  as  long  as  you  hold  It,  but  the 
moment  It  Is  loosed  the  lever  flics  off, 
which  releases  the  firing  lever  and  in  a 
few   seconds   it   explodes.     It   is   surprising 


92         GREAT  BRITAIN  AT  WAR 

how  men  vary  ;  some  are  born  bombers, 
some  soon  learn,  but  some  couldn't  be 
bombers  if  they  tried  —  not  that  they're 
cowards,  it's  just  a  case  of  mentality. 
I've  seen  men  take  hold  of  a  bomb,  pull 
out  the  pin,  and  then  stand  with  the  thing 
clutched  in  their  fingers,  absolutely  unable 
to  move !  And  there  they'd  stand  till 
Lord  knows  when  if  the  Sergeant  didn't 
take  it  from  them.  I  remember  a  queer 
case  once.  We  were  saving  the  pins  to 
rig  up  dummy  bombs,  and  the  order  was  : 
'Take  the  bomb  in  your  right  hand,  remove 
the  pin,  put  the  pin  in  your  pocket,  and 
at  the  word  of  command,  throw  the  bomb.' 
Well,  this  particular  fellow  was  so  wrought 
up  that  he  threw  away  the  pin  and  put 
the  bomb  in  his  pocket!" 

"Was  he  killed.?"  I  asked. 

"No.  The  sergeant  just  had  time  to 
dig  the  thing  out  of  the  man's  pocket  and 
throw  it  away.  Bomb  exploded  in  the 
air  and  knocked  'em  both  flat." 

"Did  the  sergeant  get  the  V.C.  or  M.C. 
or  anything.?"  I  enquired. 


A  TRAINING   CAMP  93 

The  Major  smiled  and  shook  his  head. 

"I  have  a  good  many  sergeants  here 
and  they  can't  all  have  'em !  Now  come 
and  see  my  lecture  theatres." 

Presently,  looming  through  the  rain,  I 
saw  huge  circular  structures  that  I  could 
make  nothing  of,  until,  entering  the  larger 
of  the  two,  I  stopped  in  surprise,  for  I 
looked  down  into  a  huge,  circular  amphi- 
theatre, with  circular  rows  of  seats  descend- 
ing tier  below  tier  to  a  circular  floor  of 
sand,  very  firm  and  hard. 

"All  made  out  of  empty  oil  cans  !"  said 
the  Major,  tapping  the  nearest  can  with 
his  whip.  "I  have  'em  filled  with  sand 
and  stacked  as  you  see !  —  good  many 
thousands  of  'em  here.  Find  it  good  for 
sound  too  —  shout  and  try !  This  place 
holds  about  five  thousand  men  — " 

"Whose  wonderful  idea  was  this  ?" 

"Oh,  just  a  little  wheeze  of  my  own. 
Now,  how  about  the  poison  gas ;  feel  like 
going  through  it  ?" 

I  glanced  at  K.,  K.  glanced  at  me.  I 
nodded,  so  did  K. 


94         GREAT  BRITAIN  AT  WAR 

"Certainly!"  said  I.  Wherefore  the 
Major  led  us  over  sandy  hills  and  along 
sandy  valleys  and  so  to  a  dingy  and  weather- 
worn hut,  in  whose  dingy  interior  we  found 
a  bright-faced  subaltern  in  dingy  uniform 
and  surrounded  by  many  dingy  boxes  and 
a  heterogeneous  collection  of  things.  The 
subaltern  was  busy  at  work  on  a  bomb  with 
a  penknife,  while  at  his  elbow  stood  a 
sergeant  grasping  a  screwdriver,  vv^ho,  per- 
ceiving the  Major,  came  to  attention,  while 
the  cheery  sub.  rose,  beaming. 

"Can  you  give  us  some  gas?"  enquired 
the  Major,  after  we  had  been  introduced, 
and  had  shaken  hands. 

"Certainly,  sir!"  nodded  the  cheerful 
sub.     "Delighted!" 

"You  might  explain  something  about 
it,  if  you  will,"  suggested  the  Major. 
"Bombs  and  gas  is  your  line,  you  know." 

The  sub.  beamed,  and  giving  certain  di- 
rections to  his  sergeant,  spake  something 
on  this  wise. 

"Well,  'Frightful  Fritz'  — I  mean  the 
Boches,  y'know,  started  bein'  frightful  some 


A  TRAINING   CAMP  95 

time  ago,  y^know  — -  playin'  their  little 
tricks  with  gas  an'  tear-shells  an'  liquid 
lire  an'  that,  and  we  left  'em  to  it.  Y'see, 
it  wasn't  cricket  —  WT^sn't  playin'  the  game 
—  what !  But  Fritz  kept  at  it  and  was 
happy  as  a  bird,  till  one  day  we  woke  up 
an'  started  bein'  frightful  too,  only  when 
we  did  begin  we  were  frightfuUer  than  ever 
Fritz  thought  of  bein'  —  yes,  rather  !  Our 
gas  is  more  deadly,  our  lachrymatory  shells  - 
are  more  lachrymose  an'  our  liquid  fire's 
quite  tophole  —  won't  go  out  till  it  burns 
out  —  rather  not !  So  Frightful  Fritz  is 
licked  at  his  own  dirty  game.  I've  tried 
his  and  I've  tried  ours,  an'  I  know." 

Here  the  sergeant  murmured  deferentially 
into  the  sub.'s  ear,  whereupon  he  beamed 
again  and  nodded. 

"Everything's  quite  ready!"  he  an- 
nounced, "so  if  you're  on?" 

Here,  after  a  momentary  hesitation,  I 
signified  I  was,  whereupon  our  sub.  grew  im- 
mensely busy  testing  sundry  ugly,  grey  flan- 
nel gas  helmets,  fitted  with  staring  eye-pieces 
of  talc  and  with  a  hideous  snout  in  front. 


96         GREAT  BRITAIN  AT  WAR 

Having  duly  fitted  on  these  clumsy  things 
and  buttoned  them  well  under  our  coat 
collars,  having  shown  us  how  we  must 
breathe  out  through  the  mouthpiece  which 
acts  as  a  kind  of  exhaust,  our  sub.  donned 
his  own  headpiece,  through  which  his 
cheery  voice  reached  me  in  muffled  tones  : 

"You'll  feel  a  kind  of  ticklin'  feelin'  in 
the  throat  at  first,  but  that's  all  O.K.  — 
only  the  chemical  the  flannel's  saturated 
with.  Now  follow  me,  please,  an'  would 
you  mind  runnin',  the  rain's  apt  to  weaken 
the  solution.     This  way!" 

Dutifully  we  hasted  after  him,  plough- 
ing through  the  wet  sand,  until  we  came  to 
a  heavily  timbered  doorway  that  seemingly 
opened  into  the  hillside,  and,  beyond  this 
yawning  doorway  I  saw  a  thick,  greenish- 
yellow  mist,  a  fog  exactly  the  colour  of 
strong  absinthe ;  and  then  we  were  in  it. 
K.'s  tall  figure  grew  blurred,  indistinct, 
faded  utterly  away,  and  I  was  alone  amid 
that  awful,  swirling  vapour  that  held  death 
in  such  agonising  form. 

I  will  confess  I  was  not  happy,  my  throat 


A  TRAINING  CAMP  97 

was  tickling  provokingly,  I  began  to  cough 
and  my  windpipe  felt  too  small.  I  has- 
tened forward,  but,  even  as  I  went,  the  light 
grew  dimmer  and  the  swirling  fog  more 
dense.  I  groped  blindly,  began  to  run, 
stumbled,  and  in  that  moment  my  hand 
came  in  contact  with  an  unseen  rope.  On 
I  went  into  gloom,  into  blackness,  until  I 
was  presently  aware  of  my  companions  in 
front  and  mightily  glad  of  it.  In  a  while, 
still  following  this  invisible  rope,  we  turned 
a  corner,  the  fog  grew  less  opaque,  thinned 
away  to  a  green  mist,  and  we  were  out  in 
the  daylight  again,  and  thankful  was  I  to 
whip  off  my  stifling  helmet  and  feel  the  clean 
wind  in  my  hair  and  the  beat  of  rain  upon 
my  face. 

"Notice  the  ticklin'  feelin' ?"  enquired 
our  sub.,  as  he  took  our  helmets  and  put 
them  carefully  by.  "Bit  tryin'  at  first, 
but  you  soon  get  used  to  it  —  yes,  rather. 
Some  of  the  men  funk  tryin'  at  first  — 
and  some  hold  their  breath  until  they  fairly 
well  burst,  an'  some  won't  go  in  at  all,  so 
we  carry  'cm  in.     That  gas  you've  tried  is 


98         GREAT   BRITAIN   AT  WAR 

about  twenty  times  stronger  than  we  get 
it  in  the  open,  but  these  helmets  are  a 
rippin'  dodge  till  the  chemical  evaporates, 
then,  of  course,  they're  no  earthly.  This 
is  the  latest  device  —  quite  a  tophole 
scheme!"  And  he  showed  us  a  box-like 
contrivance  which,  when  in  use,  is  slung 
round  the  neck. 

"Are  you  often  in  the  gas  ?"  I  enquired. 

"Every  day  —  yes,  rather  !" 

"For  how  long .'"' 

"Well,  I  stayed  in  once  for  five  hours 
on  end  — " 

"Five  hours!"  I  exclaimed,  aghast. 
'Y'see,  I  was  experimentin' !" 
"And  didn't  you  feel  any  bad  effects?" 

"Yes,  rather!  I  was  simply  dyin'  for  a 
smoke.  Like  to  try  a  lachrymatory?"  he 
enquired,  reaching  up  to  a  certain  dingy 
box. 

"Yes,"  said  I,  glancing  at  K.  "Oh, 
yes,  if—" 

"Only  smart  for  the  time  bein',"  our 
sub.  assured  me.  "Make  you  weep  a 
bit!"     Here  from  the  dingy  box  he  fished 


A  TRAINING  CAMP  99 

a  particularly  vicious-looking  bomb  and 
fell  to  poking  at  It  with  a  screwdriver.  I 
Immediately  stepped  back.  So  did  K. 
The  Major  pulled  his  moustache  and  flicked 
a  chunk  of  mud  from  his  boot  with  his 
whip. 

"Er  —  I  suppose  that  thing's  all  right  ?" 
he  enquired. 

"Oh,  yes,  quite  all  right,  sir,  quite  all 
right,"  nodded  the  sub.,  using  the  screw- 
driver as  a  hammer.  "Only  wants  a  little 
fixin'." 

As  I  watched  that  deadly  thing,  for  the 
second  time  I  felt  distinctly  unhappy ; 
however,  the  refractory  pin,  or  whatever 
it  was,  being  fixed  to  his  satisfaction,  our 
sub.  led  the  way  out  of  the  dingy  hut  and 
going  some  few  paces  ahead,  paused. 

"I'm  goln'  to  give  you  a  liquid-fire 
bomb  first !"  said  he.     "Watch  !" 

He  drew  back  his  hand  and  hurled  the 
bomb.  Almost  Immediately  there  was  a 
shattering  report  and  the  air  was  full  of 
thick,  grey  smoke  and  yellow  flame,  smoke 
that   rolled   heavily   along   the   ground   to- 


loo       GREAT  BRITAIN  AT  WAR 

wards  us,  flame  that  burned  ever  fiercer, 
fiery  yellow  tongues  that  leapt  from  the 
sand  here  and  there,  that  writhed  in  the 
wind-gusts,  but  never  diminished. 

"Stoop  down!"  cried  the  sub.,  suiting 
the  action  to  word,  "stoop  down  and  get 
a  mouthful  of  that  smoke  —  makes  you 
jolly  sick  and  unconscious  in  no  time  if 
you  get  enough  of  it.  Top-hole  bomb, 
that  —  what!" 

Then  he  brought  us  where  those  yellow 
flames  leapt  and  hissed ;  some  of  these  he 
covered  with  wet  sand,  and  lo !  they  had 
ceased  to  be ;  but  the  moment  the  sand 
was  kicked  away  up  they  leapt  again 
fiercer  than  ever. 

"We  use  'em  for  bombing  Boche  dug- 
outs now!"  said  he;  and  remembering  the 
dugouts  I  had  seen,  I  could  picture  the 
awful  fate  of  those  within,  the  choking 
fumes,  the  fire-scorched  bodies  !  Truly  the 
exponents  of  Frightfulness  have  felt  the 
recoil  of  their  own  vile  methods. 

"This  is  a  lachrymatory!"  said  the 
sub.,    whisking    another    bomb    from    his 


A  TRAINING   CAMP  loi 

pocket.  "When  it  pops,  run  forward  and 
get  in  the  smoke.  It'll  sting  a  bit,  but 
don't  rub  the  tears  away  —  let  'em  flow. 
Don't  touch  your  eyes,  it'll  only  inflame 
'em  —  just  weep  !  Ready  ?  One,  two, 
three!"  A  second  explosion  louder  than 
the  first,  a  puff  of  blue  smoke  into  which 
I  presently  ran  and  then  uttered  a  cry. 
So  sharp,  so  excruciating  was  the  pain, 
that  instinctively  I  raised  hand  to  eyes 
but  checked  myself,  and  with  tears  gush- 
ing over  my  cheeks,  blind  and  agonised,  I 
stumbled  away  from  that  hellish  vapour. 
Very  soon  the  pain  diminished,  was  gone, 
and  looking  up  through  streaming  tears 
I  beheld  the  sub.  nodding  and  beaming 
approval. 

"Useful  things,  eh?"  he  remarked.  "A 
man  can't  shed  tears  and  shoot  straight, 
an'  he  can't  weep  and  fight  well,  both  at 
the  same  time  —  what  ?  Fritz  can  be  very 
frightful,  but  we  can  be  more  so  when  we 
want  —  yes,  rather.  The  Boches  have 
learned  that  there's  no  monopoly  In  Fright- 
fulness." 


102       GREAT  BRITAIN  AT  WAR 

In  due  season  we  shook  hands  with  our 
cheery  sub,,  and  left  him  beaming  after  us 
from  the  threshold  of  the  dingy  hut. 

Britain  has  been  called  slow,  old- 
fashioned,  and  behind  the  times,  but  to-day 
she  is  awake  and  at  work  to  such  mighty 
purpose  that  her  once  small  army  is  now 
numbered  by  the  million,  an  army  second 
to  none  in  equipment  or  hardy  and  daunt- 
less manhood. 

From  her  Home  Counties,  from  her  Em- 
pire beyond  the  Seas,  her  millions  have 
arisen,  brothers  in  arms  henceforth,  bonded 
together  by  a  spirit  of  noble  self-sacrifice 
—  men  grimly  determined  to  suffer  wounds 

and    hardship    and    death    itself,    that    for 

'1 

those  who  come  after  them,  the  world  may 
be  a  better  place  and  humanity  may  never 
again  be  called  upon  to  endure  all  the 
agony  and  heartbreak  of  this  generation. 


X 

ARRAS 

It  was  raining,  and  a  chilly  wind  blew 
as  we  passed  beneath  a  battered  arch  into 
the  tragic  desolation  of  Arras. 

I  have  seen  villages  pounded  by  gun-fire 
into  hideous  mounds  of  dust  and  rubble, 
their  very  semblance  blasted  utterly  away ; 
but  Arras,  shell-torn,  scarred,  disfigured  for 
all  time,  is  a  city  still  —  a  City  of  Deso- 
lation. Her  streets  lie  empty  and  silent, 
her  once  pleasant  squares  are  a  dreary  deso- 
lation, her  noble  buildings,  monuments  of 
her  ancient  splendour,  are  ruined  beyond 
repair.  Arras  is  a  dead  city,  whose  mourn- 
ful silence  is  broken  only  by  the  intermit- 
tent thunder  of  the  guns. 

Thus,  as  I  paced  these  deserted  streets 
where  none  moved  save  myself  (for  my  com- 

103 


104       GREAT  BRITAIN  AT  WAR 

panions  had  hastened  on),  as  I  gazed  on 
ruined  buildings  that  echoed  mournfully 
to  my  tread,  what  wonder  that  my  thoughts 
were  gloomy  as  the  day  itself  ?  I  paused  in 
a  street  of  fair,  tall  houses,  from  whose 
broken  windows  curtains  of  lace,  of  plush, 
and  tapestry  flapped  mournfully  in  the 
chill  November  wind  like  rags  upon  a 
corpse,  while  from  some  dim  interior  came 
the  hollow  rattle  of  a  door,  and,  in  every 
gust,  a  swinging  shutter  groaned  despair- 
ingly on  rusty  hinge. 

And  as  I  stood  in  this  narrow  street, 
littered  with  the  brick  and  masonry  of 
desolate  homes,  and  listened  to  these  mourn- 
ful sounds,  I  wondered  vaguely  what  had 
become  of  all  those  for  whom  this  door 
had  been  wont  to  open,  where  now  were 
the  eyes  that  had  looked  down  from  these 
windows  many  and  many  a  time  —  would 
they  ever  behold  again  this  quiet,  narrow 
street,  would  these  scarred  walls  echo 
again  to  those  same  voices  and  ring  with 
joy  of  life  and  familiar  laughter  ? 

And  now  this  desolate  city  became  as  it 


ARRAS  105 

were  peopled  with  the  souls  of  these  exiles ; 
they  flitted  ghostlike  in  the  dimness  be- 
hind flapping  curtains,  they  peered  down 
through  closed  jalousies  —  wraiths  of  the 
men  and  women  and  children  who  had 
lived  and  loved  and  played  here  before 
the  curse  of  the  barbarian  had  driven  them 
away. 

And,  as  if  to  help  this  illusion,  I  saw  many 
things  that  were  eloquent  of  these  vanished 
people  —  glimpses  through  shattered  win- 
dows and  beyond  demolished  house-fronts ; 
here  a  table  set  for  dinner,  with  plates 
and  tarnished  cutlery  on  a  dingy  cloth 
that  stirred  damp  and  lazily  in  the  wind, 
yonder  a  grand  piano,  open  and  with 
sodden  music  drooping  from  its  rest;  here 
again  chairs  drawn  cosily  together. 

Wherever  I  looked  were  evidences  of 
arrested  life,  of  action  suddenly  stayed ; 
in  one  bedroom  a  trunk  open,  with  a  pile 
of  articles  beside  it  in  the  act  of  being 
packed ;  in  another,  a  great  bed,  its  sheets 
and  blankets  tossed  askew  by  hands  wild 
with   haste;    while   in   a   room   lined   with 


io6       GREAT  BRITAIN  AT  WAR 

bookcases  a  deep  armchair  was  drawn  up 
to  the  hearth,  with  a  small  table  whereon 
stood  a  decanter  and  a  half-emptied  glass, 
and  an  open  book  whose  damp  leaves  stirred 
in  the  wind,  now  and  then,  as  if  touched  by- 
phantom  fingers.  Indeed,  more  than  once 
I  marvelled  to  see  how,  amid  the  awful 
wreckage  of  broken  floors  and  tumbled 
ceilings,  delicate  vases  and  chinaware  had 
miraculously  escaped  destruction.  Upon 
one  cracked  wall  a  large  mirror  reflected 
the  ruin  of  a  massive  carved  sideboard, 
while  in  another  house,  hard  by,  a  mag- 
nificent ivory  and  ebony  crucifix  yet  hung 
above  an  awful  twisted  thing  that  had  been 
a  brass  bedstead. 

Here  and  there,  on  either  side  this  nar- 
row street,  ugly  gaps  showed  where  houses 
had  once  stood,  comfortable  homes,  now 
only  unsightly  heaps  of  rubbish,  a  con- 
fusion of  broken  beams  and  rafters,  amid 
which  divers  familiar  objects  obtruded  them- 
selves, broken  chairs  and  tables,  a  grand- 
father clock,  and  a  shattered  piano  whose 
melody  was  silenced  for  ever. 


ARRAS  107 

Through  all  these  gloomy  relics  of  a 
vanished  people  I  went  slow-footed  and 
heedless  of  direction,  until  by  chance  I 
came  out  into  the  wide  Place  and  saw  be- 
fore me  all  that  remained  of  the  stately 
building  which  for  centuries  had  been  the 
Hotel  de  Ville,  now  nothing  but  a  crum- 
bling ruin  of  noble  arch  and  massive  tower; 
even  so,  In  shattered  facade  and  mullioned 
window  one  might  yet  see  something  of 
that  beauty  which  had  made  it  famous. 

Oblivious  of  driving  rain  I  stood  be- 
thinking me  of  this  ancient  city :  how  in 
the  dark  ages  It  had  endured  the  horrors 
of  battle  and  siege,  had  fronted  the  cata- 
pults of  Rome,  heard  the  fierce  shouts 
of  barbarian  assailants,  known  the  merci- 
less savagery  of  religious  wars,  and  re- 
mained a  city  still  only  for  the  cultured 
barbarian  of  to-day  to  make  of  it  a  desola- 
tion. 

Very  full  of  thought  I  turned  away,  but, 
as  I  crossed  the  desolate  square,  I  was 
aroused  by  a  voice  that  hailed  me,  seem- 
ingly from   beneath  my  feet,   a  voice  that 


io8       GREAT  BRITAIN  AT  WAR 

echoed  eerily  in  that  silent  Place.  Glancing 
about  I  beheld  a  beshawled  head  that  rose 
above  the  littered  pavement,  and,  as  I 
stared,  the  head,  nodded  and  smiling  wanly, 
accosted  me  again. 

Coming  thither  I  looked  into  a  square 
opening  with  a  flight  of  steps  leading 
down  into  a  subterranean  chamber,  and 
upon  these  steps  a  woman  sat  knitting 
busily.  She  enquired  if  I  wished  to  view 
the  catacombs,  and  pointed  where  a  lamp 
burned  above  another  opening  and  other 
steps  descended  lower  yet,  seemingly  into 
the  very  bowels  of  the  earth.  To  her  I 
explained  that  my  time  was  limited  and 
all  I  wished  to  see  lay  above  ground,  and 
from  her  I  learned  that  some  few  people 
yet  remained  in  ruined  Arras,  who,  even 
as  she,  lived  underground,  since  every 
day  at  irregular  intervals  the  enemy  fired 
into  the  town  haphazard.  Only  that  very 
morning,  she  told  me,  another  shell  had 
struck  the  poor  Hotel  de  Ville,  and  she 
pointed  to  a  new,  white  scar  upon  the 
shapeless  tower.     She  also  showed  me  an 


ARRAS  109 

ugly  rent  upon  a  certain  wall  near  by, 
made  by  the  shell  which  had  killed  her 
husband.  Yes,  she  lived  all  alone  now, 
she  told  me,  waiting  for  that  good  day 
when  the  Boches  should  be  driven  beyond 
the  Rhine,  waiting  until  the  townsfolk 
should  come  back  and  Arras  wake  to  life 
again  :  meantime  she  knitted. 

Presently  I  saluted  this  solitary  woman, 
and,  turning  away,  left  her  amid  the  deso- 
late ruin  of  that  once  busy  square,  her 
beshawled  head  bowed  above  feverishly 
busy  fingers,  left  her  as  I  had  found  her  — 
waiting. 

And  now  as  I  traversed  those  deserted 
streets  it  seemed  that  this  seemingly  dead 
city  did  but  swoon  after  all,  despite  its 
many  grievous  wounds,  for  here  was  life 
even  as  the  woman  had  said ;  evidences  of 
which  I  saw  here  and  there,  in  battered 
stovepipes  that  had  writhed  themselves 
snake-like  through  rusty  cellar  gratings 
and  holes  in  wall  or  pavement,  miserable 
contrivances  at  best,  whose  fumes  black- 
ened the  walls  whereto  they  clung.     Still, 


no       GREAT  BRITAIN  AT  WAR 

nowhere  was  there  sound  or  sight  of  folk 
save  in  one  small  back  street,  where,  in  a 
shop  that  apparently  sold  everything,  from 
pickles  to  picture  postcards,  two  British 
soldiers  were  buying  a  pair  of  braces  from 
a  smiling,  haggard-eyed  woman,  and  being 
extremely  polite  about  it  in  cryptic  Anglo- 
French  ;  and  here  I  foregathered  with  my 
companions.  Our  way  led  us  through  the 
railway  station,  a  much-battered  ruin,  its 
clock  tower  half  gone,  its  platforms  cracked 
and  splintered,  the  iron  girders  of  its  great, 
domed  roof  bent  and  twisted,  and  with 
never  a  sheet  of  glass  anywhere.  Be- 
tween the  rusty  tracks  grass  and  weeds 
grew  and  flourished,  and  the  few  waybills 
and  excursion  placards  which  still  showed 
here  and  there  looked  unutterably  forlorn. 
In  the  booking  office  was  a  confusion  of 
broken  desks,  stools  and  overthrovim  chairs, 
the  floor  littered  with  sodden  books  and 
ledgers,  but  the  racks  still  held  thousands 
of  tickets,  bearing  so  many  names  they 
might  have  taken  any  one  anywhere 
throughout  fair  France  once,   but  now,  it 


ARRAS  III 

seemed,  would   never   take    any   one    any- 
where. 

All  at  once,  through  the  battered  swing 
doors,  marched  a  company  of  soldiers,  the 
tramp  of  their  feet  and  the  lilt  of  their 
voices  filling  the  place  with  strange  echoes, 
for,  being  wet  and  weary  and  British, 
they  sang  cheerily.  Packs  a-swing,  rifles 
on  shoulder,  they  tramped  through  shell- 
torn  waiting  room  and  booking  hall  and 
out  again  into  wind  and  wet,  and  I  re- 
member the  burden  of  their  chanting  was  : 
"Smile!     Smile!     Smile!" 

In  a  little  while  I  stood  amid  the  ruins 
of  the  great  cathedral ;  its  mighty  pillars, 
chipped  and  scarred,  yet  rose  high  in  air, 
but  its  long  aisles  were  choked  with  rubble 
and  fallen  masonry,  while  through  the 
gaping  rents  of  its  lofty  roof  the  rain  fell, 
wetting  the  shattered  heap  of  particoloured 
marble  that  had  been  the  high  altar  once. 
Here  and  there,  half  buried  in  the  debris 
at  my  feet,  I  saw  fragments  of  memorial 
tablets,  a  battered  corona,  the  twisted 
remains  of  a  great  candelabrum,  and  over 


112       GREAT  BRITAIN  AT  WAR 

and  through  this  mournful  ruin  a  cold 
and  rising  wind  moaned  fitfully.  Silently 
we  clambered  back  over  the  mountain  of 
debris  and  hurried  on,  heedless  of  the  devas- 
tation around,  heartsick  with  the  gross 
barbarity  of  it  all. 

They  tell  me  that  churches  and  cathe- 
drals must  of  necessity  be  destroyed  since 
they  generally  serve  as  observation  posts. 
But  I  have  seen  many  ruined  churches  — 
usually  beautified  by  Time  and  hallowed 
by  tradition  —  that  by  reason  of  site  and 
position  could  never  have  been  so  mis- 
used —  and  then  there  is  the  beautiful 
Chateau  d'Eau  ! 

Evening  was  falling,  and  as  the  shadows 
stole  upon  this  silent  city,  a  gloom  unre- 
lieved by  any  homely  twinkle  of  light, 
these  dreadful  streets,  these  stricken  homes 
took  on  an  aspect  more  sinister  and  for- 
bidding in  the  half-light.  Behind  those 
flapping  curtains  were  pits  of  gloom  full  of 
unimagined  terrors  whence  came  unearthly 
sounds,  stealthy  rustlings,  groans  and  sighs 
and    sobbing    voices.     If    ghosts    did    flit 


ARRAS  113 

behind  those  crumbling  walls,  surely  they 
were  very  sad  and  woeful  ghosts. 

"Damn  this  rain  !"  murmured  K.  gently. 

"And  the  wind  !"  said  F.,  pulling  up  his 
collar.  "Listen  to  it!  It's  going  to  play 
the  very  deuce  with  these  broken  roofs  and 
things  if  it  blows  hard.  Going  to  be  a 
beastly  night,  and  a  forty-mile  drive  in 
front  of  us.  Listen  to  that  wind  !  Come 
on  —  let's  get  away  !" 

Very  soon,  buried  in  warm  rugs,  we  sped 
across  dim  squares,  past  wind-swept  ruins, 
under  battered  arch,  and  the  dismal  city 
was  behind  us,  but,  for  a  while,  her  ghosts 
seemed  all  about  us  still. 

As  we  plunged  on  through  the  gather- 
ing dark,  past  rows  of  trees  that  leapt  at 
us  and  were  gone,  it  seemed  to  me  that  the 
soul  of  Arras  was  typified  in  that  patient, 
solitary  woman  who  sat  amid  desolate 
ruin  —  waiting  for  the  great  Day ;  and 
surely  her  patience  cannot  go  unrewarded. 
For  since  science  has  proved  that  nothing 
can  be  utterly  destroyed,  since  I  for  one 
am  convinced  that  the  soul  of  man  through 


114       GREAT  BRITAIN  AT  WAR 

death  is  but  translated  into  a  fuller  and 
more  infinite  living,  so  do  I  think  that  one 
day  the  woes  of  Arras  shall  be  done  away, 
and  she  shall  rise  again,  a  City  greater 
perhaps  and  fairer  than  she  was. 


XI 

THE   BATTLEFIELDS 

To  all  who  sit  immune,  far  removed  from 
war  and  all  its  horrors,  to  those  to  whom 
when  Death  comes,  he  comes  in  shape  as 
gentle  as  he  may  —  to  all  such  I  dedicate 
these  tales  of  the  front. 

How  many  stories  of  battlefields  have 
been  written  of  late,  written  to  be  scanned 
hastily  over  the  breakfast  table  or  com- 
fortably lounged  over  in  an  easy-chair, 
stories  warranted  not  to  shock  or  disgust, 
wherein  the  reader  may  learn  of  the  glorious 
achievements  of  our  armies,  of  heroic  deeds 
and  noble  self-sacrifice,  so  that  frequently 
I  have  heard  it  said  that  war,  since  it  pro- 
duces heroes,  is  a  goodly  thing,  a  necessary 
thing. 

Can   the   average   reader   know  or   even 

"5 


ii6       GREAT  BRITAIN  AT  WAR 

faintly  Imagine  the  other  side  of  the  picture  ? 
Surely  not,  for  no  clean  human  mind  can 
compass  all  the  horror,  all  the  brutal,  gro- 
tesque obscenity  of  a  modem  battlefield. 
Therefore  I  propose  to  write  plainly,  briefly, 
of  that  which  I  saw  on  my  last  visit  to  the 
British  front ;  for  since  in  blood-sodden 
France  men  are  dying  even  as  I  pen  these 
lines,  it  seems  only  just  that  those  of  us  for 
whom  they  are  giving  their  lives  should  at 
least  know  something  of  the  manner  of  their 
dying.  To  this  end  I  visited  four  great 
battlefields  and  I  would  that  all  such  as 
cry  up  war,  its  necessity,  its  inevitability, 
might  have  gone  beside  me.  Though  I 
have  sometimes  written  of  war,  yet  I  am 
one  that  hates  war,  one  to  whom  the  sight 
of  suffering  and  bloodshed  causes  physical 
pain,  yet  I  forced  myself  to  tread  those 
awful  fields  of  death  and  agony,  to  look  upon 
the  ghastly  aftermath  of  modern  battle, 
that,  if  it  be  possible,  I  might  by  my  testi- 
mony in  some  small  way  help  those  who 
know  as  little  of  war  as  I  did  once,  to  realise 
the  horror  of  it,   that  loathing  it  for  the 


THE   BATTLEFIELDS  117 

hellish  thing  it  is,  they  may,  one  and  all, 
set  their  faces  against  war  henceforth,  with 
an  unshakeable  determination  that  never 
again  shall  it  be  permitted  to  maim,  to  de- 
stroy and  blast  out  of  being  the  noblest 
works  of  God. 

What  I  write  here  I  set  down  deliber- 
ately, with  no  idea  of  phrase-making,  of 
literary  values  or  rounded  periods ;  this  is 
and  shall  be  a  plain,  trite  statement  of  fact. 

And  now,  one  and  all,  come  with  me  in 
spirit,  lend  me  your  mind's  eyes,  and  see 
for  yourselves  something  of  what  modem 
war  really  is. 

Behold  then  a  stretch  of  country  —  a 
sea  of  mud  far  as  the  eye  can  reach,  a  grim 
desolate  expanse,  its  surface  ploughed  and 
churned  by  thousands  of  high-explosive 
shells  into  ugly  holes  and  tortured  heaps  like 
muddy  waves  struck  motionless  upon  this 
muddy  sea.  The  guns  are  silent,  the  cheers 
and  frenzied  shouts,  the  screams  and  groans 
have  long  died  away,  and  no  sound  is  heard 
save  the  noise  of  my  own  going. 

The  sun  shone  palely  and  a  fitful  wind 


ii8       GREAT   BRITAIN  AT  WAR 

swept  across  the  waste,  a  noxious  wind, 
cold  and  dank,  that  chilled  me  with  a 
sudden  dread  even  while  the  sweat  ran  from 
me.  I  walked  amid  shell  craters,  some- 
times knee-deep  in  mud ;  I  stumbled  over 
rifles  half  buried  in  the  slime,  on  muddy 
knapsacks,  over  muddy  bags  half  full  of 
rusty  bombs,  and  so  upon  the  body  of  a 
dead  German  soldier.  With  arms  wide- 
flung  and  writhen  legs  grotesquely  twisted 
he  lay  there  beneath  my  boot,  his  head 
half  buried  in  the  mud,  even  so  I  could  see 
that  the  maggots  had  been  busy,  though 
the  . . .  ^  had  killed  them  where  they  clung. 
So  there  he  lay,  this  dead  Boche,  skull 
gleaming  under  shrunken  scalp,  an  awful, 
eyeless  thing,  that  seemed  to  start,  to  stir 
and  shiver  as  the  cold  wind  stirred  his 
muddy  clothing.  Then  nausea  and  a  deadly 
faintness  seized  me,  but  I  shook  it  off,  and 
shivering,  sweating,  forced  myself  to  stoop 
and  touch  that  awful  thing,  and,  with  the 
touch,  horror  and  faintness  passed,  and  in 
their  place  I  felt  a  deep  and  passionate  pity, 
^  Deleted  by  censor.    J.  F. 


THE   BATTLEFIELDS  119 

for  all  he  was  a  Boche,  and  with  pity  In  my 
heart  I  turned  and  went  my  way. 

But  now,  wherever  I  looked  were  other 
shapes,  that  lay  in  attitudes  frightfully 
contorted,  grotesque  and  awful.  Here  the 
battle  had  raged  desperately.  I  stood  in  a 
very  charnel-house  of  dead.  From  a  mound 
of  earth  upflung  by  a  bursting  shell  a 
clenched  fist,  weather-bleached  and  pallid, 
seemed  to  threaten  me ;  from  another 
emerged  a  pair  of  crossed  legs  with  knees 
up-drawn,  very  like  the  legs  of  one  who 
dozes  gently  on  a  hot  day.  Hard  by,  a 
pair  of  German  knee-boots  topped  a  shell 
crater,  and  drawing  near,  I  saw  the  grey- 
green  breeches,  belt  and  pouches,  and  be- 
yond —  nothing  but  unspeakable  corrup- 
tion. I  started  back  in  horror  and  stepped 
on  something  that  yielded  underfoot  — 
glanced  down  and  saw  a  bloated,  discoloured 
face,  that,  even  as  I  looked,  vanished  be- 
neath my  boot  and  left  a  bare  and  grinning 
skull. 

Once  again  the  faintness  seized  me,  and 
lifting  my  head  I  stared  round  about  me 


120       GREAT  BRITAIN  AT  WAR 

and    across    the   desolation   of   this    helHsh 
waste.     Far  in  the  distance  was  the  road 
where  men  moved  to  and  fro,  busy  with 
picks  and  shovels,  and  some  sang  and  some 
whistled   and   never  sound  more  welcome. 
Here  and   there   across   these  innumerable 
shell    holes,    solitary    figures    moved,  men, 
these,  who  walked  heedfully  and  with  heads 
down-bent.     And    presently    I    moved    on, 
but  now,  like  these  distant  figures,  I  kept 
my  gaze  upon  that  awful  mud  lest  again  I 
should    trample    heedlessly    on    something 
that  had  once  lived  and  loved  and  laughed. 
And  they  lay  everywhere,  here  stark  and 
stiff,  with  no  pitiful  earth  to  hide  their  awful 
corruption  —  here    again,    half    buried    in 
slimy   mud ;      more   than   once   my   nailed 
boot  uncovered  mouldering  tunic  or  things 
more  awful.     And  as  I  trod  this  grisly  place 
my  pity  grew,   and  with  pity  a  profound 
wonder  that  the  world  with  its  so  many 
millions  of  reasoning  minds  should  permit 
such  things  to  be,  until  I  remembered  that 
few,  even  the  most  imaginative,  could  realise 
the    true    frightfulness    of    modern    men- 


THE   BATTLEFIELDS  121 

butchering  machinery,  and  my  wonder 
changed  to  a  passionate  desire  that  such 
things  should  be  recorded  and  known,  if 
only  in  some  small  measure,  wherefore  it  is 
I  write  these  things. 

I  wandered  on  past  shell  holes,  some  deep 
in  slime,  that  held  nameless  ghastly  messes, 
some  a-brim  with  bloody  water,  until  I 
came  where  three  men  lay  side  by  side, 
their  hands  upon  their  levelled  rifles.  For 
a  moment  I  had  the  foolish  thought  that 
these  men  were  weary  and  slept,  until, 
coming  near,  I  saw  that  these  had  died  by 
the  same  shell-burst.  Near  them  lay  yet 
another  shape,  a  mangled  heap,  one  muddy 
hand  yet  grasping  muddy  rifle,  while,  be- 
neath the  other  lay  the  fragment  of  a  sodden 
letter  —  probably  the  last  thing  those  dying 
eyes  had  looked  upon. 

Death  in  horrible  shape  was  all  about  me. 
I  saw  the  work  wrought  by  shrapnel,  by 
gas,  and  the  mangled  red  havoc  of  high 
explosive.  I  only  seemed  unreal,  like  one 
that  walked  in  a  nightmare.  Here  and 
there  upon  this  sea  of  mud  rose  the  twisted 


122       GREAT   BRITAIN  AT  WAR 

wreckage  of  aeroplanes,  and  from  where  I 
stood  I  counted  five,  but  as  I  tramped  on 
and  on  these  five  grew  to  nine.  One  of  these 
lying  upon  my  way  I  turned  aside  to  glance 
at,  and  stared  through  a  tangle  of  wires 
into  a  pallid  thing  that  had  been  a  face  once 
comely  and  youthful;  the  leather  jacket 
had  been  opened  at  the  neck  for  the  identity 
disc,  as  I  suppose,  and  glancing  lower,  I  saw 
that  this  leather  jacket  was  discoloured, 
singed,  burnt  —  and  below  this,  a  charred 
and  unrecognisable  mass. 

Is  there  a  man  in  the  world  to-day  who, 
beholding  such  horrors,  would  not  strive 
with  all  his  strength  to  so  order  things  that 
the  hell  of  war  should  be  made  impossible 
henceforth  ^  Therefore,  I  have  recorded 
in  some  part  what  I  have  seen  of  war. 

So  now,  all  of  you  who  read,  I  summon 
you  in  the  name  of  our  common  humanity, 
let  us  be  up  and  doing.  Americans  — 
Anglo-Saxons,  let  our  common  blood  be  a 
bond  of  brotherhood  between  us  hence- 
forth, a  bond  indissoluble.  As  you  have 
now  entered  the  war,  as  you  are  now  our 


THE   BATTLEFIELDS  123 

allies  in  deed  as  in  spirit,  let  this  alliance 
endure  hereafter.  Already  there  is  talk  of 
some  such  League,  which,  in  its  might  and 
unity,  shall  secure  humanity  against  any 
recurrence  of  the  evils  the  world  now  groans 
under.  Here  is  a  noble  purpose,  and  I 
conceive  it  the  duty  of  each  one  of  us,  for 
the  sake  of  those  who  shall  come  after,  that 
we  should  do  something  to  further  that 
which  was  once  looked  upon  as  only  an 
Utopian  dream  —  the  universal  Brother- 
hood of  Man. 

"  The  flowers  o'  the  forest  are  a'  faded  away." 

Far  and  wide  they  lie,  struck  down  in  the 
flush  of  manhood,  full  of  the  joyous,  un- 
conquerable spirit  of  youth.  Who  knows 
what  noble  ambitions  once  were  theirs, 
what  splendid  works  they  might  not  have 
wrought  ?  Now  they  lie,  each  poor,  shat- 
tered body  a  mass  of  loathsome  corruption. 
Yet  that  diviner  part,  that  no  bullet  may 
slay,  no  steel  rend  or  mar,  has  surely  entered 
into  the  fuller  living,  for  Death  is  but  the 
gateway  into  Life  and  infinite  possibilities. 


124       GREAT  BRITAIN  AT  WAR 

But,  upon  all  who  sit  immune,  upon  all 
whom  as  yet  this  bitter  war  has  left  un- 
touched, is  the  blood  of  these  that  died  in 
the  cause  of  humanity,  the  cause  of  Free- 
dom for  us  and  the  generations  to  come,  this 
blood  is  upon  each  one  of  us  —  consecrating 
us  to  the  task  they  have  died  to  achieve, 
and  it  is  our  solemn  duty  to  see  that  the 
wounds  they  suffered,  the  deaths  they  died, 
have  not  been,  and  shall  not  be,  in  vain. 


XII 

FLYING  MEN 

A  FEW  short  years  ago  flying  was  in  its 
experimental  stage ;  to-day,  though  man's 
conquest  of  the  air  is  yet  a  dream  unreaHsed, 
it  has  developed  enormously  and  to  an 
amazing  degree ;  to-day,  flying  is  one  of 
the  chief  factors  of  this  world  war,  both 
on  sea  and  land.  Upon  the  Western  front 
alone  there  are  thousands  upon  thousands 
of  aeroplanes  —  monoplanes  and  biplanes 
—  of  hundreds  of  different  makes  and  de- 
signs, of  varying  shapes  and  many  sizes. 
I  have  seen  giants  armed  with  batteries  of 
swivel  guns  and  others  mounting  veritable 
cannon.  Here  are  huge  bomb-dropping 
machines  with  a  vast  wing  spread ;  solid, 
steady-flying  machines  for  photographic 
work,  and  the  light,  swift-climbing,  double- 
ts 


126       GREAT  BRITAIN  AT  WAR 

gunned  battle-planes,  capable  of  mounting 
two  thousand  feet  a  minute  and  attaining 
a  speed  of  two  hundred  kilometres.  Of 
these  last  they  are  building  scores  a  week 
at  a  certain  factory  I  visited  just  outside 
Paris,  and  this  factory  is  but  one  of  many. 
But  the  men  (or  rather,  youths)  who  fly 
these  aerial  marvels  —  it  is  of  these  rather 
than  the  machines  that  I  would  tell,  since 
of  the  machines  I  can  describe  little  even 
if  I  would  ;  but  I  have  watched  them  hover- 
ing unconcernedly  (and  quite  contemptu- 
ous of  the  barking  attention  of  "Archie") 
above  white  shrapnel  bursts  —  fleecy,  in- 
nocent-seeming puffs  of  smoke  that  go  by 
the  name  of  "woolly  bears."  I  have  seen 
them  turn  and  hover  and  swoop,  swift  and 
graceful  as  great  eagles.  I  have  watched 
master  pilots  of  both  armies,  English  and 
French,  perform  soul-shaking  gyrations  high 
in  air,  feats  quite  im.possible  hitherto  and 
never  attempted  until  lately.  There  is  now 
a  course  of  aerial  gymnastics  which  every 
flier  must  pass  successfully  before  he  may 
call  himself  a  "chasing"  pilot;     and,  from 


FLYING  MEN  127 

what  I  have  observed,  it  would  seem  that 
to  become  a  pilot  one  must  be  either  all 
nerve  or  possess  no  nerve  at  all. 

Conceive  a  biplane,  thousands  of  feet 
aloft,  suddenly  flinging  its  nose  up  and  be- 
ginning to  climb  vertically  as  if  intending 
to  loop  the  loop ;  conceive  of  its  pausing 
suddenly  and  remaining,  for  perhaps  a  full 
minute,  poised  thus  upon  its  tail  —  abso- 
lutely perpendicular.  Then,  the  engines 
switched  off,  conceive  of  it  falling  helplessly, 
tail  first,  reversing  suddenly  and  plunging 
earthwards,  spinning  giddily  round  and 
round  very  like  the  helpless  flutter  of  a 
falling  leaf.  Then  suddenly,  the  engine 
roars  again,  the  twisting,  fluttering,  dead 
thing  becomes  instinct  with  life,  rights  it- 
self majestically  on  flashing  pinions,  swoops 
down  in  swift  and  headlong  course,  and 
turning,  mounts  the  wind  and  soars  up  and 
up  as  light,  as  graceful,  as  any  bird. 

Other  nerve-shattering  things  they  do, 
these  soaring  young  demigods  of  the  air, 
feats  so  marvellous  to  such  earth-bound 
ones    as    myself  —  feats    indeed    so    wildly 


128       GREAT  BRITAIN  AT  WAR 

daring  it  would  seem  no  ordinary  human 
could  ever  hope  to  attain  unto.  But  in 
and  around  Paris  and  at  the  front,  I  have 
talked  with,  dined  with,  and  known  many 
of  these  bird-men,  both  English,  French 
and  American,  and  have  generally  found 
them  very  human  indeed,  often  shy,  gen- 
erally simple  and  unaffected,  and  always 
modest  of  their  achievements  and  full  of 
admiration  for  seamen  and  soldiers,  and 
heartily  glad  that  their  lives  are  not 
jeopardised  aboard  ships,  or  submarines,  or 
in  muddy  trenches ;  which  sentiment  I 
have  heard  fervently  expressed  —  not  once, 
but  many  times.  Surely  the  mentality  of 
the  flier  is  beyond  poor  ordinary  under- 
standing ! 

It  was  with  some  such  thought  in  my 
mind  that  with  my  friend  N.,  a  well-known 
American  correspondent,  I  visited  one  of 
our  flying  squadrons  at  the  front.  The 
day  was  dull  and  cloudy,  and  N.,  deep 
versed  and  experienced  in  flying  and  matters 
pertaining  thereto,  shook  doubtful  head. 

"We  shan't  see  much  to-day,"  he  opined, 


FLYING  MEN  129 

"low  visibility  —  plafond  only  about  a 
thousand!"  Which  cryptic  sentence,  by 
dint  of  pertinacious  questioning,  I  found  to 
mean  that  the  clouds  were  about  a  thousand 
feet  from  earth  and  that  it  was  misty. 
^'^  Plafond ''\  by  the  way,  is  aeronautic  for 
cloud  strata.  Thus  I  stood  with  my  gaze 
lifted  heavenward  until  the  Intelligence 
Officer  joined  us  with  a  youthful  flight- 
captain,  who,  having  shaken  hands,  looked 
up  also  and  stroked  a  small  and  very  young 
moustache.  And  presently  he  spoke  as 
nearly  as  I  remember  on  this  wise  : 

"About  twelve  hundred  !  Rather  rotten 
weather  for  our  business  —  expecting  some 
new  machines  over,  too." 

"Has  your  squadron  been  out  lately?" 
I  enquired  (I  have  the  gift  of  enquiry  largely 
developed). 

"Rather  !  Lost  four  of  our  chaps  yester- 
day —  'Archie'  got  'em.    Rotten  bad  luck  !" 

"Are  they  —  hurt  ?"  I  asked. 

"Well,  we  know  two  are  all  right,  and 
one  we  think  is,  but  the  other  — •  rather  a 
pal  of  mine 


5? 


I30       GREAT   BRITAIN   AT   WAR 

"Do  you  often  lose  fellows  ?" 

"Off  and  on  —  you  see,  we're  a  fighting 
squadron  —  must  take  a  bit  of  risk  now 
and  then  —  it's  the  game,  y'know  !" 

He  brought  me  where  stood  biplanes  and 
monoplanes  of  all  sizes  and  designs,  and 
paused  beside  a  two-seater,  gunned  fore 
and  aft,  and  with  ponderous,  wide-flung 
wings. 

"This,"  he  explained,  "is  an  old  battle- 
plane, quite  a  veteran  too  —  jolly  old  bus 
in  its  way,  but  too  slow ;  it's  a  'pusher',  you 
see,  and  'tractors'  are  all  the  go.  We're 
having  some  over  to-day  —  tophole  ma- 
chines." Here  ensued  much  technical  dis- 
cussion between  him  and  N.  as  to  the 
relative  merits  of  traction  and  propulsion. 

"Have  you  had  many  air  duels?"  I 
enquired  at  last,  as  we  wandered  on  through 
a  maze  of  wheels  and  wings  and  propellers. 

"Oh,  yes,  one  or  two,"  he  admitted, 
"though  nothing  very  much  !"  he  hastened 
to  add.  "Some  of  our  chaps  are  pretty 
hot  stuff,  though.  There's  B.  now ;  B.'s 
got  nine  so  far," 


FLYING  MEN  131 

"An  air  fight  must  be  rather  terrible?" 
said  I. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know!"  he  demurred. 
"Gets  a  bit  Hvely  sometimes.  C,  one  of 
our  chaps,  had  a  near  go  coming  home 
yesterday  —  attacked  by  five  Boche  ma- 
chines, well  over  their  own  territory,  of 
course.  They  swooped  down  on  him  out 
of  a  cloud.  C.  got  one  right  away,  but  the 
others  got  him  —  nearly.  They  shot  his 
gear  all  to  pieces  and  put  his  bally  gun  out 
of  commission  —  bullet  clean  through  the 
tray.  Rotten  bad  luck !  So,  being  at 
their  mercy,  C.  pretended  they'd  got  him  — 
did  a  turn-over  and  nose-dived  through  the 
clouds  very  nearly  on  two  more  Boche 
machines  that  were  waiting  for  him.  So, 
thinking  it  was  all  up  with  him,  C.  dived 
straight  for  the  nearest,  meaning  to  take  a 
Boche  down  with  him,  but  Hans  didn't 
think  that  was  playing  the  game,  and 
promptly  hooked  it.  The  other  fellow  had 
been  blazing  away  and  was  getting  a  new 
drum  fixed,  when  he  saw  C.  was  on  his  tail 
making  tremendous  business  with  his  use- 


132       GREAT  BRITAIN  AT  WAR 

less  gun,  so  Fritz  immediately  dived  away 
out  of  range,  and  C.  got  home  with  about 
fifty  bullet  holes  in  his  wings  and  his  gun 
crocked,  and  —  oh,  here  he  is  !" 

Flight-Lieutenant  C.  appeared,  rather 
younger  than  his  Captain,  a  long,  slender 
youth,  with  serious  brow  and  thoughtful 
eyes,  whom  I  forthwith  questioned  as 
diplomatically  as  might  be. 

"Oh,  yes  !"  he  answered,  in  response  to 
my  various  queries,  "it  was  exciting  for  a 
minute  or  so,  but  I  expect  the  Captain  has 
been  pulling  your  leg  no  end.  Yes,  they 
smashed  my  gun.  Yes,  they  hit  pretty 
well  everything  except  me  and  my  mascot 
—  they  didn't  get  that,  by  good  luck.  No. 
I  don't  think  a  fellow  would  mind  'getting 
it'  in  the  ordinary  way  —  a  bullet,  say. 
But  it's  the  damned  petrol  catching  alight 
and  burning  one's  legs."  Here  the  speaker 
bent  to  survey  his  long  legs  with  serious 
eyes.  "Burning  isn't  a  very  nice  finish 
somehow.  They  generally  manage  to 
chuck  themselves  out  —  when  they  can. 
Hello  —  here  comes  one  of  our  new  machines 


FLYING  MEN  133 

—  engine  sounds  nice  and  smooth!"  said 
he,  cocking  an  ear.  Sure  enough,  came  a 
faint  purr  that  grew  to  a  hum,  to  an  ever- 
loudening  drone,  and  out  from  the  clouds 
an  aeroplane  appeared,  which,  wheeling  In 
graceful  spirals,  sank  lower  and  lower, 
touched  earth,  rose,  touched  again,  and  so, 
engine  roaring,  slid  smoothly  toward  us 
over  the  grass.  Then  appeared  men  in 
blue  overalls,  who  seized  the  gleaming 
monster  in  unawed,  accustomed  hands, 
steadied  it,  swung  it  round,  and  halted  it 
within  speaking  distance. 

Hereupon  Its  leather-clad  pilot  climbed 
stiffly  out,  vituperated  the  weather  and  lit 
a  cigarette. 

How  Is  she.^"  enquired  the  Captain. 

A  lamb!  A  witch!  Absolutely  top- 
hole  when  you  get  used  to  her."  The  top- 
hole  lamb  and  witch  was  a  smallish  biplane 
with  no  great  wing  spread,  but  powerfully 
engined,  whose  points  N.  explained  to  me 
as  —  her  speed,  her  climbing  angle,  her 
wonderful  stability,  etc., "while  the  Captain 
and   Lieutenant   hastened   off   to  find   the 


134       GREAT  BRITAIN  AT  WAR 

Major,  who,  appearing  in  due  course,  proved 
to  be  slender,  merry-eyed  and  more  youth- 
ful-looking than  the  Lieutenant.  Indeed, 
so  young  seeming  was  he  that  upon  better 
acquaintance  I  ventured  to  enquire  his  age, 
and  he  somewhat  unwillingly  owned  to 
twenty-three, 

"But,"  said  he,  "I'm  afraid  we  can't  show 
you  very  much,  the  weather's  so  perfectly 
rotten  for  flying," 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  said  the  Captain, 
glancing  towards  the  witch-lamb,  "I 
rather  thought  I'd  like  to  try  this  new 
machine  —  if  you  don't  mind,  sir." 

"Same  here,"  murmured  the  Lieutenant. 

"But  you've  never  flown  a  Nieuport 
before,  have  you,  eh.^"  enquired  the 
Major. 

"No,  sir,  but—" 

"Nor  you  either,  C. ,?" 

"No,  sir,  still—" 

"Then  I'll  try  her  myself,"  said  the 
Major,  regarding  the  witch-lamb  joyous- 
eyed. 

"But,"   demurred  the  Captain,   "I  was 


FLYING  MEN  135 

rather  under  the  impression  you'd  never 
flown  one  either." 

"I  haven't  —  yet,"  laughed  the  Major, 
and  hasted  away  for  his  coat  and  helmet. 

"Can  you  beat  that.^"  exclaimed  the 
Lieutenant. 

The  Captain  sighed  and  went  to  aid  the 
Major  into  his  leathern  armour.  Lightly 
and  joyously  the  youthful  Major  climbed 
into  the  machine  and  sat  awhile  to  examine 
and  remark  upon  its  unfamiliar  features, 
while  a  sturdy  mechanic  stood  at  the  pro- 
peller ready  to  start  the  engine. 

"By  the  way,"  said  he,  turning  to  address 
me.  "You're  staying  to  luncheon,  of 
course  ?" 

"I'm  afraid  we  can't,"  answered  our  In- 
telligence Officer. 

"Oh,  but  you  must  —  I've  ordered  soup  ! 
Right-oh!"  he  called  to  his  mechanician; 
the  engine  hummed,  thundered,  and  roar- 
ing, cast  back  upon  us  a  very  gale  of  w^ind ; 
the  witch-lamb  moved,  slid  forward  over  the 
grass,  and  gathering  speed,  lifted  six  inches, 
a  yard,  ten  yards  —  and  was  in  flight. 


136       GREAT  BRITAIN  AT  WAR 


a 


Can  you  beat  that?"  exclaimed  the 
Captain  enthusiastically,  "lifted  her  clean 
away!" 

"I  rather  fancy  he's  about  as  good  as 
they're  made!"  observed  the  Lieutenant. 
Meanwhile,  the  witch-lamb  soared  up  and 
up  straight  as  an  arrow;  up  she  climbed, 
growing  rapidly  less  until  she  was  a  gnat 
against  a  background  of  fleecy  cloud  and  the 
roar  of  the  engine  had  diminished  to  a  whine ; 
up  and  up  until  she  was  a  speck  —  until 
the  clouds  had  swallowed  her  altogether. 

"Pity  it  isn't  clear!"  said  the  Captain. 
"I  rather  fancy  you'd  have  seen  some  real 
flying.  By  the  way,  they're  going  to  prac- 
tise at  the  targets  —  might  interest  you. 
Care  to  see .?" 

The  targets  were  about  a  yard  square  and, 
as  I  watched,  an  aeroplane  rose,  wheeling 
high  above  them.  All  at  once  the  hum  of 
the  engine  was  lost  in  the  sharp,  fierce 
rattle  of  a  machine  gun ;  and  ever  as  the 
biplane  banked  and  wheeled  the  machine 
gun  crackled.  From  every  angle  and  from 
every  point  of  the  compass  these  bullets 


FLYING  MEN  137 

were  aimed,  and  examining  the  targets 
afterwards  I  was  amazed  to  see  how  many 
hits  had  been  registered. 

After  this  they  brought  me  to  the  work- 
shops where  many  mechanics  were  busied ; 
they  showed  me,  among  other  grim  reHcs, 
C.'s  broken  machine  gun  and  perforated 
cartridge  tray.  They  told  me  many  stories 
of  daring  deeds  performed  by  other  members 
of  the  squadron,  but  when  I  asked  them  to 
describe  their  own  experiences,  I  found  them 
diffident  and  monosyllabic. 

"Hallo!"  exclaimed  C,  as  we  stepped 
out  into  the  air,  "here  comes  the  Major. 
He's  in  that  cloud  —  know  the  sound  of  his 
engine."  Sure  enough,  out  from  a  low- 
lying  cloud-bank  he  came,  wheeling  in  short 
spirals,  plunging  earthward. 

Down  sank  the  aeroplane,  the  roaring 
engine  fell  silent,  roared  again,  and  she  sped 
towards  us,  her  wheels  within  a  foot  or  so 
of  earth.  Finally  they  touched,  the  engine 
stopped  and  the  witch-lamb  pulled  up 
within  a  few  feet  of  us.  Hereupon  the 
Major  waved  a  gauntleted  hand  to  us. 


138       GREAT  BRITAIN  AT  WAR 

"Must  stop  to  lunch,"  he  cried,  "I've 
ordered  soup,  you  know." 

But  this  being  impossible,  we  perforce 
said  good-by  to  these  warm-hearted,  simple- 
souled  fighting  men,  a  truly  regrettable 
farewell  so  far  as  I  was  concerned.  They 
escorted  us  to  the  car,  and  there  parted 
from  us  with  many  frank  expressions  of 
regard  and  stood  side  by  side  to  watch  us 
out  of  sight. 

"Yesterday  there  was  much  aerial  ac- 
tivity on  our  front. 

"Depots  were  successfully  bombed  and 
five  enemy  machines  were  forced  to  descend, 
three  of  them  in  flames.  Four  of  ours  did 
not  return." 

I  shall  never  read  these  oft  recurring 
lines  in  the  communiques  without  thinking 
of  those  three  youthful  figures,  so  full  of 
life  and  the  joy  of  life,  who  watched  us  de- 
part that  dull  and  cloudy  morning. 

Here  is  just  one  other  story  dealing  with 
three  seasoned  air-fighters,  veterans  of  many 
deadly  combats  high  above  the  clouds,  each 
of  whom  has  more  than  one  victory  to  his 


FLYING  MEN  139 

credit,  and  whose  combined  ages  total  up 
to  sixty  or  thereabouts.  We  will  call  them 
X.,  Y.  and  Z.  Now  X.  is  an  American,  Y. 
is  an  Englishman,  whose  peach-like  coun- 
tenance yet  bears  the  newly  healed  scar  of  a 
bullet  wound,  and  Z.  is  an  Afrikander. 
Here  begins  the  story : 

Upon  a  certain  day  of  wind,  rain  and 
cloud,  news  came  that  the  Boches  were 
massing  behind  their  lines  for  an  attack, 
whereupon  X.,  Y.  and  Z.  were  ordered  to  go 
up  and  verify  this.  Gaily  enough  they 
started  despite  unfavourable  weather  con- 
ditions. The  clouds  were  low,  very  low, 
but  they  must  fly  lower,  so,  at  an  altitude 
varying  from  fifteen  hundred  to  a  bare 
thousand  feet,  they  crossed  the  German 
lines,  Y.  and  Z.  flying  wing  and  wing  be- 
hind X.'s  tail.  All  at  once  "Archie"  spoke, 
a  whole  battery  of  anti-aircraft  guns  fllled 
the  air  with  smoke  and  whistling  bullets  — 
away  went  X.'s  propeller  and  his  machine 
was  hurled  upside  down;  immediately  Y. 
and  Z.  rose.  By  marvellous  pilotage  X. 
managed  to  right  his  crippled  machine  and 


I40       GREAT  BRITAIN  AT  WAR 

began,  of  course,  to  fall ;  promptly  Y.  and 
Z.  descended.  It  is,  I  believe,  an  unwritten 
law  in  the  Air  Service  never  to  desert  a 
comrade  until  he  is  seen  to  be  completely 
"done  for"  —  hence  Y.  and  Z.'s  hawk- 
like swoop  from  the  clouds  to  draw  the  fire 
of  the  battery  from  their  stricken  com- 
panion. Down  they  plunged  through  the 
battery  smoke,  firing  their  machine  guns 
point-blank  as  they  came ;  and  so,  wheeling 
in  long  spirals,  their  guns  crackling  vi- 
ciously, they  mounted  again  and  soared 
cloudward  together,  but,  there  among  the 
clouds  and  in  comparative  safety,  Z.  de- 
veloped engine  trouble.  Their  ruse  had 
served,  however,  and  X.  had  contrived  to 
bring  his  shattered  biplane  to  earth  safely 
behind  the  British  lines.  Meanwhile  Y. 
and  Z.  continued  on  toward  their  objective, 
but  Z.'s  engine  trouble  becoming  chronic, 
he  fell  behind  more  and  more,  and  finally, 
leaving  Y.  to  carry  on  alone,  was  forced  to 
turn  back.  And  now  it  was  that,  in  the 
mists  ahead,  he  beheld  another  machine 
which,    coming    swiftly    down    upon    him, 


FLYING  MEN  141 

proved  to  be  a  German,  who,  mounting 
above  him,  promptly  opened  fire.  Z., 
struggling  with  his  baulking  engine,  had  his 
hands  pretty  full ;  moreover  his  opponent, 
owing  to  greater  speed,  could  attack  him 
from  precisely  what  angle  he  chose.  So 
they  wheeled  and  flew,  Z.  endeavouring  to 
bring  his  gun  to  bear,  the  German. keeping 
skilfully  out  of  range,  now  above  him,  now 
below,  but  ever  and  always  behind.  Thus 
the  Boche  flying  on  Z.'s  tail  had  him  at  his 
mercy;  a  bullet  ripped  his  sleeve,  another 
smashed  his  speedometer,  yet  another  broke 
his  gauge  —  slowly  and  by  degrees  nearly 
all  Z.'s  gear  is  either  smashed  or  carried 
away  by  bullets.  All  this  time  it  is  to  be 
supposed  that  Z.,  thus  defenceless,  is  wheel- 
ing and  turning  as  well  as  his  crippled  con- 
dition will  allow,  endeavouring  to  get  a 
shot  at  his  elusive  foe ;  but  (as  he  told  me) 
he  felt  it  was  his  finish,  so  he  determined  if 
possible  to  ram  his  opponent  and  crash 
down  with  him  through  the  clouds.  There- 
fore, waiting  until  the  Boche  was  aiming 
at  him  from  directly  below,  he  threw  his 


142       GREAT  BRITAIN  AT  WAR 

machine  into  a  sudden  dive.  Thus  for  one 
moment  Z.  had  him  in  range,  for  a  moment 
only,  but  the  range  was  close  and  deadly, 
and  Z.  fired  off  half  his  tray  as  he  swooped 
headlong  down  upon  his  astonished  foe. 
All  at  once  the  German  waved  an  arm  and 
sagged  over  sideways,  his  great  battle- 
plane wavering  uncertainly,  and,  as  it  be- 
gan to  fall,  Z.  avoided  the  intended  collision 
by  inches.  Down  went  the  German  ma- 
chine, down  and  down,  and,  watching,  Z, 
saw  it  plunge  through  the  clouds  wrapped 
in  flame. 

Then  Z.  turned  and  made  for  home  as 
fast  as  his  baulking  engine  would  allow. 

These  are  but  two  stories  among  dozens 
I  have  heard,  yet  these,  I  think,  will  suffice 
to  show  something  of  the  spirit  animating 
these  young  paladins.  The  Spirit  of  Youth 
is  surely  a  godlike  spirit,  unconquerable, 
care-free,  undying.  It  is  a  spirit  to  whom 
fear  and  defeat  are  things  to  smile  and 
wonder  at,  to  whom  risks  and  dangers  are 
joyous  episodes,  and  Death  himself,  whose 
face    their    youthful    eyes    have    so    often 


FLYING  MEN  143 

looked  into,  a  friend  familiar  by  close  ac- 
quaintanceship. 

Upon  a  time  I  mentioned  some  such 
thought  to  an  American  aviator,  who 
nodded  youthful  head  and  answered  in 
this  manner : 

"The  best  fellows  generally  go  first,  and 
such  a  lot  are  gone  now  that  there'll  be  a 
whole  bunch  of  them  waiting  to  say  'Hello, 
old  sport ! '  so  —  what's  it  matter,  any- 
way ?" 


XIII 

YPRES 

Much  has  been  written  concerning 
Ypres,  but  more,  much  more,  remains  to 
be  written.  Some  day,  in  years  to  come, 
when  the  roar  of  guns  has  been  long  for- 
gotten, and  Time,  that  great  and  benef- 
icent consoler,  has  dried  the  eyes  that  are 
now  wet  with  the  bitter  tears  of  bereave- 
ment and  comforted  the  agony  of  stricken 
hearts,  at  such  a  time  some  one  will  set 
down  the  story  of  Ypres  in  imperishable 
words  ;  for  round  about  this  ancient  town 
lie  many  of  the  best  and  bravest  of  Brit- 
ain's heroic  army.  Thick,  thick,  they  lie 
together.  Englishman,  Scot  and  Irishman, 
Australian,  New  Zealander,  Canadian  and 
Indian,  linked  close  in  the  comradeship  of 
death  as  they  were  in  life ;   but  the  glory  of 

144 


YPRES  145 

their  invincible  courage,  their  noble  self- 
sacrifice  and  endurance  against  overwhelm- 
ing odds  shall  never  fade.  Surely,  surely 
while  English  is  spoken  the  story  of 
"Wipers"  will  live  on  for  ever  and,  through 
the  coming  years,  will  be  an  inspiration 
to  those  for  whom  these  thousands  went, 
cheering  and  undismayed,  to  meet  and 
conquer  Death. 

Ypres,  as  all  the  world  knows,  forms  a 
sharp  salient  in  the  British  line,  and  is, 
therefore,  open  to  attack  on  three  sides ; 
and  on  these  three  sides  it  has  been  furiously 
attacked  over  and  over  again,  so  very  often 
that  the  mere  repetition  would  grow  weari- 
some. And  these  attacks  were  day-long, 
week  and  sometimes  month-long  battles, 
but  Britain's  army    stood  firm. 

In  these  bad,  dark  days,  outnumbered 
and  out-gunned,  they  never  wavered. 
Raked  by  flanking  fire  they  met  and 
broke  the  charges  of  dense-packed  foemen 
on  their  front;  rank  upon  rank  and  elbow 
to  elbow  the  Germans  charged,  their  bayo- 
nets a  sea  of  flashing  steel,  their  thunderous 


146       GREAT  BRITAIN  AT  WAR 

shouts  drowning  the  roar  of  guns,  and 
rank  on  rank  they  reeled  back  from  British 
steel  and  swinging  rifle-butt,  and  German 
shouts  died  and  were  lost  in  British  cheers. 
So,  day  after  day,  week  after  week,  month 
after  month  they  endured  still ;  swept  by 
rifle  and  machine-gun  fire,  blown  up  by 
mines,  buried  alive  by  mortar  bombs, 
their  very  trenches  smitten  flat  by  high  ex- 
plosives —  yet  they  endured  and  held  on. 
They  died  all  day  and  every  day,  but  their 
places  were  filled  by  men  just  as  fiercely 
determined.  And  ever  as  the  countless 
German  batteries  fell  silent,  their  troops 
in  dense  grey  waves  hurled  themselves 
upon  shattered  British  trench  and  dug- 
out, and  found  there  wild  men  in  tunics 
torn  and  bloody  and  mud-bespattered, 
who,  shouting  in  fierce  joy,  leapt  to  meet 
them  bayonet  to  bayonet.  With  clubbed 
rifle  and  darting  steel  they  fought,  these 
men  of  the  Empire,  heedless  of  wounds 
and  death,  smiting  and  cheering,  thrusting 
and  shouting,  until  those  long,  close-ranked 
columns  broke,  wavered  and  melted  away. 


YPRES  147 

Then,  panting,  they  cast  themselves  back 
into  wrecked  trench  and  blood-spattered 
shell  hole  while  the  enemy's  guns  roared 
and  thundered  anew,  and  waited  patiently 
but  yearningly  for  another  chance  to  "  really 
fight."     So  they  held  this  deadly  salient. 

Days  came  and  went,  whole  regiments 
were  wiped  out,  but  they  held  on.  The 
noble  town  behind  them  crumbled  into 
ruin  beneath  the  shrieking  avalanche  of 
shells,  but  they  held  on.  German  and 
British  dead  lay  thick  from  British  para- 
pet to  Boche  wire,  and  over  this  awful 
litter  fresh  attacks  were  launched  daily, 
but  still  they  held  on,  and  would  have 
held  and  will  hold,  until  the  crack  of  doom 
if  need  be  —  because  Britain  and  the  Em- 
pire expect  it  of  them. 

But  to-day  the  dark  and  evil  time  Is 
passed.  To-day  for  every  German  shell 
that  crashes  into  the  salient,  four  British 
shells  burst  along  the  enemy's  position, 
and  It  was  with  their  thunder  In  my  ears 
that  I  traversed  that  historic,  battle-torn 
road    which    leads    Into    Ypres,    that    road 


148       GREAT  BRITAIN  AT  WAR 

over  which  so  many  young  and  stalwart 
feet  have  tramped  that  never  more  may 
come  marching  back.  And  looking  along 
this  road,  lined  with  scarred  and  broken 
trees,  my  friend  N.  took  off  his  hat  and  I 
did  the  like. 

"It's  generally  pretty  lively  here,"  said 
our  Intelligence  Officer,  as  I  leaned  for- 
ward to  pass  him  the  matches.  "We're 
going  to  speed  up  a  bit  —  road's  a  bit 
bumpy,  so  hold  on."  Guns  were  roaring 
near  and  far,  and  in  the  air  above  was  the 
long,  sighing  drone  of  shells  as  we  raced 
forward,  bumping  and  swaying  over  the 
uneven  surface  faster  and  faster,  until, 
skidding  round  a  rather  awkward  comer, 
we  saw  before  us  a  low-lying,  jagged  out- 
line of  broken  walls,  shattered  towers  and 
a  tangle  of  broken  roof-beams  —  all  that 
remains  of  the  famous  old  town  of  Ypres. 
And  over  this  devastation  shells  moaned 
distressfully,  and  all  around  unseen  guns 
barked  and  roared.  So,  amidst  this  pan- 
demonium our  car  lurched  into  shattered 
"Wipers",  past  the  dismantled  water-tower, 


YPRES  149 

uprooted  from  its  foundations  and  leaning 
at  a  more  acute  angle  than  will  ever  the 
celebrated  tower  of  Pisa,  past  ugly  heaps 
of  brick  and  rubble  —  the  ruins  of  once 
fair  buildings,  on  and  on  until  we  pulled 
up  suddenly  before  a  huge  something,  shat- 
tered and  formless,  a  long  fagade  of  broken 
arches  and  columns,  great  roof  gone,  mighty 
walls  splintered,  cracked  and  rent  —  all 
that  "Kultur"  has  left  of  the  ancient  and 
once  beautiful  Cloth  Hall. 

"Roof's  gone  since  I  was  here  last," 
said  the  Intelligence  Officer,  "come  this 
way.  You'll  see  it  better  from  over  here." 
So  we  followed  him  and  stood  to  look  upon 
the  indescribable  ruin. 

"There  are  no  words  to  describe  —  that," 
said  N.  at  last,  gloomily. 

"No,"  I  answered.  "Arras  was  bad 
enough,  but  this  — !" 

"Arras  .^"  he  repeated.  "Arras  is  only 
a  ruined  town.  Ypres  is  a  rubbish  dump. 
And  its  Cloth  Hall  is  —  a  bad  dream." 
And  he  turned  away.  Our  Intelligence 
Officer  led  us  over  mounds  of  fallen  masonry 


150       GREAT  BRITAIN  AT  WAR 

and  debris  of  all  sorts,  and  presently  halted 
us  amid  a  ruin  of  splintered  columns, 
groined  arch  and  massive  walls,  and 
pointed  to  a  heap  of  rubbish  he  said  was 
the  altar. 

"This  is  the  Church  St.  Jean,"  he  ex- 
plained, "begun,  I  think,  in  the  eleventh 
or  twelfth  century  and  completed  some- 
where about  1320 — " 

"And,"  said  N.,  "finally  finished  and 
completely  done  for  by  'Kultur'  in  the 
twentieth  century,  otherwise  I  guess  it 
would  have  lasted  until  the  220th  century 
—  look  at  the  thickness  of  the  walls." 
'  "And  after  all  these  years  of  civilisation," 
said  I. 

"Civilisation,"  he  snorted,  turning  over 
a  fragment  of  exquisitely  carved  moulding 
with  the  toe  of  his  muddy  boot,  "civilisa- 
tion has  done  a  whole  lot,  don't  forget — 
changed  the  system  of  plumbing  and  taught 
us  how  to  make  high  explosives  and  poison 

gas." 

Gloomily  enough  we  wandered  on  to- 
gether over  rubbish  piles  and  mountains  of 


YPRES  151 

fallen  brickwork,  through  shattered  walls, 
past  unlovely  stumps  of  mason-work  that 
had  been  stately  tower  or  belfry  once, 
beneath  splintered  arches  that  led  but 
from  one  scene  of  ruin  to  another,  and 
ever  our  gloom  deepened,  for  it  seemed 
that  Ypres,  the  old  Ypres,  with  all  its 
monuments  of  mediaeval  splendour,  its 
noble  traditions  of  hard-won  freedom,  its 
beauty  and  glory,  was  passed  away  and 
gone  for  ever. 

"I  don't  know  how  all  this  affects  you," 
said  N.,  his  big  chin  jutted  grimly,  "but 
I  hate  it  worse  than  a  battlefield.  Let's 
get  on  over  to  the  Major's  office." 

We  went  by  silent  streets,  empty  except 
for  a  few  soldierly  figures  in  hard-worn 
khaki,  desolate  thoroughfares  that  led  be- 
tween piles  and  huge  unsightly  mounds  of 
fallen  masonry  and  shattered  brickwork, 
fallen  beams,  broken  rafters  and  twisted 
ironwork,  across  a  desolate  square  shut 
in  by  the  ruin  of  the  great  Cloth  Hall  and 
other  once  stately  buildings,  and  so  to  a 
grim,    battle-scarred    edifice,    its    roof    half 


152       GREAT  BRITAIN  AT  WAR 

blown  away,  Its  walls  cracked  and  agape 
with  ugly  holes,  its  doorway  reinforced 
by  many  sandbags  cunningly  disposed, 
through  which  we  passed  into  the  dingy 
office  of  the  Town  Major. 

As  we  stood  in  that  gloomy  chamber, 
dim-lighted  by  a  solitary  oil  lamp,  floor 
and  walls  shook  and  quivered  to  the  con- 
cussion of  a  shell  —  not  very  near,  it  is 
true,  but  quite  near  enough. 

The  Major  was  a  big  man,  with  a  dreamy 
eye,  a  gentle  voice  and  a  passion  for  archae- 
ology. In  his  company  I  climbed  to  the 
top  of  a  high  building,  whence  he  pointed 
out,  through  a  convenient  shell  hole,  where 
the  old  walls  had  stood  long  ago,  where 
Vauban's  star-shaped  bastions  were,  and  the 
general  conformation  of  what  had  been 
present-day  Ypres ;  but  I  saw  only  a 
dusty  chaos  of  shattered  arch  and  tower 
and  walls,  with  huge,  unsightly  mounds 
of  rubble  and  brick  —  a  rubbish  dump  in 
very  truth.  Therefore  I  turned  to  the 
quiet-voiced  Major  and  asked  him  of  his 
experiences,   whereupon   he   talked   to   me 


YPRES  153 

most  interestingly  and  very  learnedly  of 
Roman  tile,  of  mediaeval  rubble-work,  of 
herringbone  and  Flemish  bond.  He  as- 
sured me  also  that  {Deo  volente)  he  pro- 
posed to  write  a  monograph  on  the  various 
epochs  of  this  wonderful  old  town's  history 
as  depicted  by  its  various  styles  of  mason- 
work  and  construction. 

"I  could  show  you  a  nearly  perfect 
aqueduct  if  you  have  time,"  said  he. 

"I'm  afraid  we  ought  to  be  starting 
now,"  said  the  Intelligence  Officer;  "over 
eighty  miles  to  do  yet,  you  see.  Major." 

"Do  you  have  many  casualties  still  .f"' 
I  enquired. 

"Pretty  well,"  he  answered.  "The 
mediaeval  wall  was  superimposed  upon 
the  Roman,  you'll  understand." 

"And  is  it,"  said  I  as  we  walked  on  to- 
gether, "is  it  always  as  noisy  as  this.?" 

"Oh,  yes  —  especially  when  there's  a 
^Hate'  on." 

"Can  you  sleep  V^ 

"Oh,  yes,  one  gets  used  to  anything,  you 
know.     Though,   strangely  enough,   I   was 


154       GREAT  BRITAIN  AT  WAR 

disturbed  last  night  —  two  of  my  juniors 
had  to  camp  over  my  head,  their  quarters 
were  blown  up  rather  yesterday  after- 
noon, and  believe  me,  the  young  beggars 
talked  and  chattered  so  that  I  couldn't 
get  a  wink  of  sleep  —  had  to  send  and  order 
them  to  shut  up." 

"You  seem  to  have  been  getting  it  pretty 
hot  since  I  was  here  last,"  said  the  Intel- 
ligence Officer,  waving  a  hand  round  the 
crumbling  ruin  about  us. 

"Fairly  so,"  nodded  the  Major. 

"One  would  wonder  the  enemy  wastes 
any  more  shells  on  Ypres,"  said  I,  "there's 
nothing  left  to  destroy,  is  there.?" 

"Well,  there's  us,  you  know!"  said  the 
Major  gently,  "and  then  the  Boche  is 
rather  a  revengeful  beggar  anyhow  —  you 
see,  he  wasted  quite  a  number  of  army  corps 
trying  to  take  Ypres.  And  he  hasn't 
got  it  yet." 

"Nor  ever  will,"  said  I. 

The  Major  smiled  and  held  out  his  hand. 

"It's  a  pity  you  hadn't  time  to  see  that 
aqueduct,"  he  sighed.     "However,  I  shall 


YPRES  155 

take  some  flashlight  photos  of  it  —  if  my 
luck  holds.  Good-by."  So  saying,  he 
raised  a  hand  to  his  weather-beaten  trench 
cap  and  strode  back  into  his  dim-lit,  dingy 
office. 

The  one-time  glory  of  Ypres  has  vanished 
in  ruin  but  thereby  she  has  found  a  glory 
everlasting.  For  over  the  wreck  of  noble 
edifice  and  fallen  tower  is  another  glory 
that  shall  never  fade  but  rather  grow 
with  coming  years  —  an  imperishable  glory. 
As  pilgrims  sought  it  once  to  tread  its 
quaint  streets  and  behold  its  old-time 
beauty,  so  in  days  to  come  other  pilgrims 
will  come  with  reverent  feet  and  with 
eyes  that  shall  see  in  these  shattered  ruins 
a  monument  to  the  deathless  valour  of 
that  brave  host  that  met  death  unflinching 
and  unafraid  for  the  sake  of  a  great  ideal 
and  the  welfare  of  unborn  generations. 

And  thus  in  her  ruin  Ypres  has  found 
the  Glory  Everlasting. 


XIV 

WHAT  BRITAIN  HAS  DONE 

The  struggle  of  Democracy  and  Reason 
against  Autocracy  and  Brute  Force,  on 
land  and  in  the  air,  upon  the  sea  and 
under  the  sea,  is  reaching  its  climax. 
With  each  succeeding  month  the  ignoble 
foe  has  smirched  himself  with  new  atrocities 
which  yet  in  the  end  bring  their  own  ter- 
rible retribution. 

Three  of  the  bloodiest  years  in  the  world's 
history  lie  behind  us ;  but  these  years  of 
agony  and  self-sacrifice,  of  heroic  achieve- 
ments, of  indomitable  purpose  and  un- 
swerving loyalty  to  an  ideal,  are  surely 
three  of  the  most  tremendous  in  the  annals 
of  the  British  Empire. 

I  am  to  tell  something  of  what  Britain 
has  accomplished  during  these  awful  three 

is6 


WHAT  BRITAIN  HAS   DONE      157 

years,  of  the  mighty  changes  she  has 
wrought  in  this  short  time,  of  how,  with 
her  every  thought  and  effort  bent  in  the 
one  direction,  she  has  armed  and  equipped 
herself  and  many  of  her  alHes ;  of  the 
armies  she  has  raised,  the  vast  sums  she 
has  expended  and  the  munitions  and  arma- 
ments she  has  amassed. 

To  this  end  it  is  my  privilege  to  lay  be- 
fore the  reader  certain  facts  and  figures, 
so  I  propose  to  set  them  forth  as  clearly 
and  briefly  as  may  be,  leaving  them  to 
speak  for  themselves. 

I  For  truly  Britain  has  given  and  is  giving 
much  —  her  men  and  women,  her  money, 
her  very  self;  the  soul  of  Britain  and  her 
Empire  is  in  this  conflict,  a  soul  that 
grows  but  the  more  steadfast  and  deter- 
mined as  the  struggle  waxes  more  deadly 
and  grim.  Faint  hearts  and  fanatics  there 
are,  of  course,  who,  regardless  of  the 
future,  would  fain  make  peace  with  the  foe 
unbeaten,  a  foe  lost  to  all  shame  and  hon- 
ourable dealing,  but  the  heart  of  the  Em- 
pire beats  true  to  the  old  war-cry  of  "  Free- 


158       GREAT  BRITAIN  AT  WAR 

dom  or  Death."  In  proof  of  which,  If 
proof  be  needed,  let  us  to  our  figures  and 
facts. 

Take  first  her  fighting  men  :  In  three 
short  years  her  little  army  has  grown  until 
to-day  seven  million  of  her  sons  are  under 
arms,  and  of  these  (most  glorious  fact !) 
nearly  five  million  were  volunteers.  Surely 
since  first  this  world  was  cursed  by 
war,  never  did  such  a  host  march  forth 
voluntarily  to  face  its  blasting  horrors. 
They  are  fighting  on  many  battle-fronts, 
these  citizen-soldiers,  in  France,  Macedonia, 
Mesopotamia,  Palestine,  Western  Egypt 
and  German  East  Africa,  and  behind  them, 
here  in  the  homeland,  are  the  women, 
working  as  their  men  fight,  with  a  grim  and 
tireless  determination.  To-day  the  land 
hums  with  munition  factories  and  huge 
works  whose  countless  wheels  whirr  day 
and  night,  factories  that  have  sprung  up 
where  the  grass  grew  so  lately.  The  ter- 
rible, yet  glorious,  days  of  Mons  and  the 
retreat,  when  her  little  army,  out-gunned 
and    out-manned;    held    up    the    rushing 


WHAT  BRITAIN  HAS   DONE      159 

might  of  the  German  advance  so  long  as 
life  and  ammunition  lasted,  that  black 
time  is  past,  for  now  in  France  and  Flanders 
our  countless  guns  crash  in  ceaseless  con- 
cert, so  that  here  in  England  one  may  hear 
their  ominous  muttering  all  day  long  and 
through  the  hush  of  night ;  and  hearkening 
to  that  continuous  stammering  murmur 
one  thanks  God  for  the  women  of  Britain. 

Two  years  ago,  in  June,  191 5,  the  Min- 
istry of  Munitions  was  formed  under  Mr. 
David  Lloyd  George  ;  as  to  its  achievements, 
here  are  figures  which  shall  speak  plainer 
than  any  words. 

In  the  time  of  Mons  the  army  was 
equipped  and  supplied  by  three  Govern- 
ment factories  and  a  very  few  auxiliary 
firms ;  to-day  gigantic  national  factories, 
with  miles  of  railroads  to  serve  them,  are 
In  full  swing,  beside  which,  thousands  of 
private  factories  are  controlled  by  the 
Government.  As  a  result  the  output  of 
explosives  in  March,  1917,  was  over  four 
times  that  of  March,  1916,  and  twenty-eight 
times  that  of  March,    191 5,   and   so  enor- 


i6o       GREAT  BRITAIN  AT  WAR 

mous  has  been  the  production  of  shells 
that  In  the  first  nine  weeks  of  the  summer 
offensive  of  1917  the  stock  decreased  by 
only  seven  per  cent,  despite  the  appalling 
quantity  used. 

The  making  of  machine  guns  to-day  as 
compared  with  191 5  has  Increased  twenty- 
fold,  while  the  supply  of  small-arm  ammuni- 
tion has  become  so  abundant  that  the  neces- 
sity for  Importation  has  ceased  altogether. 
In  one  Government  factory  alone  the 
making  of  rifles  has  Increased  ten-Jold,  and 
the  employees  at  Woolwich  Arsenal  have 
increased  from  a  little  less  than  eleven 
thousand  to  nearly  seventy-four  thousand, 
of  whom  twenty-five  thousand  are  women. 

Production  of  steel,  before  the  war,  was 
roughly  seven  million  tons ;  it  Is  now  ten 
million  tons  and  still  Increasing,  so  much 
so  that  It  Is  expected  the  pre-war  output 
will  be  doubled  by  the  end  of  1918;  while 
the  cost  of  steel  plates  here  is  now  less 
than  half  the  cost  in  the  U.S.A.  Since 
May,  191 7,  the  output  of  aeroplanes  has 
been  quadrupled  and  is  rapidly  increasing; 


WHAT  BRITAIN  HAS   DONE      i6i 

an  enormous  programme  of  construction 
has  been  laid  down  and  plans  drawn  up 
for  its  complete  realisation. 

With  this  vast  increase  in  the  production 
of  munitions  the  cost  of  each  article  has 
been  substantially  reduced  by  systematic 
examination  of  actual  cost,  resulting  in  a 
saving  of  £43,000,000  over  the  previous 
year's  prices. 

Figures  are  a  dry  subject  in  themselves, 
and  yet  such  figures  as  these  are,  I  venture 
to  think,  of  interest,  among  other  reasons 
for  the  difficulty  the  human  brain  has  to 
appreciate  their  full  meaning.  Thus  :  the 
number  of  articles  handled  weekly  by  the 
Stores  Departments  is  several  hundreds 
of  thousands  above  fifty  million  :  or  again, 
I^  read  that  the  munition  workers  them- 
selves have  contributed  £40,187,381  to- 
wards various  war  loans.  It  is  all  very 
easy  to  write,  but  who  can  form  any  just 
idea  of  such  uncountable  numbers  ^ 

And  now,  writing  of  the  sums  of  money 
Britain  has  already  expended,  I  for  one  am 
immediately    lost,    out   of    my    depth    and 


i62       GREAT  BRITAIN  AT  WAR 

plunged  ten  thousand  fathoms  deep,  for 
now  I  come  upon  the  following: 

"The  total  national  expenditure  for  the 
three  years  to  August  4th,  1917,  is  ap- 
proximately £5,150,000,000,  of  which 
£1,250,000,000  is  already  provided  for 
by  taxation  and  £1,171,000,000  has  been 
lent  to  our  colonies  and  allies,  which  may 
be  regarded  as  an  investment."  Having 
written  which  I  lay  down  my  pen  to  think, 
and,  giving  it  up,  hasten  to  record  the  next 
fact. 

"The  normal  pre-war  taxation  amounted 
to  approximately  £200,000,000,  but  for 
the  current  financial  year  (1917-1918)  a 
revenue  of  £638,000,000  has  been  budg- 
eted for,  but  this  is  expected  to  produce 
between  £650,000,000  and  £700,000,000." 
Now,  remembering  that  the  cost  of  neces- 
saries has  risen  to  an  unprecedented  extent, 
these  figures  of  the  extra  taxation  and  the 
amounts  raised  by  the  various  war  loans 
speak  louder  and  more  eloquently  than  any 
words  how  manfully  Britain  has  shoul- 
dered her  burden  and  of  her  determination 


WHAT  BRITAIN  HAS   DONE      163, 

to  see  this  great  struggle  through  to  the 
only  possible  conclusion  —  the  end,  for  all 
time,  of  autocratic  government. 

I  have  before  me  so  many  documents 
and  so  much  data  bearing  on  this  vast 
subject  that  I  might  set  down  very  much 
more ;  I  might  descant  on  marvels  of  en- 
terprise and  organisation  and  of  almost 
insuperable  dlfhculties  overcome.  But,  lest 
I  weary  the  reader,  and  since  I  would  have 
these  lines  read,  I  will  hasten  on  to  the 
last  of  my  facts  and  figures. 

As  regards  ships,  Britain  has  already 
placed  six  hundred  vessels  at  the  disposal 
of  France  and  four  hundred  have  been  lent 
to  Italy,  the  combined  tonnage  of  these 
thousand  ships  being  estimated  at  two 
million. 

Then,  despite  her  drafts  to  Army  and 
Navy  she  has  still  a  million  men  employed 
in  her  coal  mines  and  is  supplying  coal  to 
Italy,  France  and  Russia.  Moreover,  she  is 
sending  to  France  one  quarter  of  her  total 
production  of  steel,  munitions  of  all  kinds 
to  Russia  and  guns  and  gunners  to  Italy. 


i64       GREAT  BRITAIN  AT  WAR 

As  for  her  Navy  —  the  German  battle 
squadrons  He  inactive,  while  in  one  single 
month  the  vessels  of  the  British  Navy 
steamed  over  one  million  miles ;  German 
trading  ships  have  been  swept  from  the 
seas  and  the  U-boat  menace  is  but  a  menace 
still.  Meantime,  British  shipyards  are  busy 
night  and  day;  a  million  tons  of  craft 
for  the  Navy  alone  were  launched  during 
the  first  year  of  the  war,  and  the  programme 
of  new  naval  construction  for  191 7  runs 
into  hundreds  of  thousands  of  tons.  In 
peace  time  the  building  of  new  merchant 
ships  was  just  under  2,000,000  tons  yearly, 
and  despite  the  shortage  of  labour  and 
difficulty  of  obtaining  materials,  1,100,000 
tons  will  be  built  by  the  end  of  1917,  and 
4,000,000  tons  in  191 8. 

The  British  Mercantile  Marine  (to  whom 
be  all  honour !)  has  transported  during  the 
war,  the  following  :  — 

13,000,000  men, 

25,000,000  tons  of  war  material, 
1,000,000  sick  and  wounded, 


WHAT  BRITAIN  HAS  DONE      165 

51,000,000  tons  of  coal  and  oil  fuel, 

2,000,000  horses  and  mules, 
100,000,000  hundredweights  of  wheat, 
7,000,000  tons  of  iron  ore, 
and,   beyond   this,   has   exported   goods   to 
the  value  of  £500,000,000. 

Here  ends  my  list  of  figures  and  here 
this  chapter  should  end  also;  but,  before 
I  close,  I  would  give,  very  briefly  and  in 
plain  language,  three  examples  of  the 
spirit  animating  this  Empire  that  to-day 
is  greater  and  more  worthy  by  reason  of 
these  last  three  blood-smirched  years. 

No.  I 

There  came  from  Australia  at  his  own 
expense,  one  Thomas  Harper,  an  old  man 
of  seventy-four,  to  help  in  a  British  muni- 
tion factory.  He  laboured  hard,  doing 
the  work  of  two  men,  and  more  than  once 
fainted  with  fatigue,  but  refused  to  go 
home  because  he  "couldn't  rest  while  he 
thought  his  country  needed  shells." 


1 66       GREAT  BRITAIN  AT  WAR 

No.  II 

There  is  a  certain  small  fishing  village 
whose  men  were  nearly  all  employed  in 
fishing  for  mines.  But  there  dawned  a 
black  day  when  news  came  that  forty  of 
their  number  had  perished  together  and 
in  the  same  hour.  Now  surely  one  would 
think  that  this  little  village,  plunged  in 
grief  for  the  loss  of  its  young  manhood, 
had  done  its  duty  to  the  uttermost  for 
Britain  and  their  fellows  !  But  these  heroic 
fisher-folk  thought  otherwise,  for  im- 
mediately fifty  of  the  remaining  seventy- 
five  men  (all  over  military  age)  volunteered 
and  sailed  away  to  fill  the  places  of  their 
dead  sons  and  brothers. 

No.  Ill 

Glancing  idly  through  a  local  magazine 
some  days  since,  my  eye  was  arrested  by  this  : 

"In  proud  and  loving  memory  of  our 
loved  and  loving  son  .  .  .  who  fell  in 
France  .  .  .  with  his  only  brother,  *0n 
Higher  Service.'     There  is  no  death." 


WHAT  BRITAIN  HAS   DONE      167 

Thus  then  I  conclude  my  list  of  facts 
and  figures,  a  record  of  achievement  such 
as  this  world  has  never  known  before,  a 
record  to  be  proud  of,  because  it  is  the 
outward  and  visible  sign  of  a  people  strong, 
virile,  abounding  in  energy,  but  above  all, 
a  people  clean  of  soul  to  whom  Right  and 
Justice  are  worth  fighting  for,  suffering 
for,  labouring  for.  It  is  the  sign  of  a 
people  which  is  willing  to  endure  much 
for  its  ideals  that  the  world  may  be  a 
better  world,  wherein  those  who  shall 
come  hereafter  may  reap,  in  peace  and 
contentment,  the  harvest  this  generation 
has  sowed  in  sorrow,  anguish  and  great 
travail. 

THE    END 


^3 


THE  LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 

Santa  Barbara 


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